The Vengeful Vengeance of Schmenjamin Schmarker
by BeBopALula
Summary: A parody of Sweeney Todd. Or the inspiring tale of a young man who solves his many emotional problems by becoming a ninja. Take your pick.
1. Blood! Everywhere, Blood!

_Author's Note: I decided to try my hand at a parody. I know it's been done before, but I have to get it out of my system._

**Scene One: Blood! Everywhere, Blood!**

(See title of scene.)

**Scene Two: You Mean, This Isn't **_**On the Town 2: Gaby's Revenge**_**?**

(Two men stand on a ship that is approaching London. Yes, they are both men. One of them does look suspiciously like Keira Knightley. His name is Anthony Hope. Symbolic, ain't it? He is staring at London as if it is an adorable kitten, because he is not that bright. The other man looks suspiciously like someone who streaks his hair because he thinks it looks classy. His name is Sweeney Todd, and he is not that sane.)

Anthony: London, London, it's a wonderful town!

Sweeney: The filth is up and the decency's down! It's like there's a great black pit in the ground!

Both: London, London, it's a wonderful town!

Anthony: Did you mean that last part sarcastically, Mr. Todd?

Sweeney: (sarcastically) No.

Anthony: Oh. (Takes a deep breath) YOU CAN COUNT ON ME! YOU CAN COUNT ON ME! AS THE ADDING MACHINE ONCE SAID-

Sweeney: Anthony?

Anthony: Yes?

Sweeney: You do realize that this isn't a musical about three sailors who spend a day in New York City and try to get laid, don't you?

Anthony: (shocked) You mean, this isn't _On the Town 2: Gaby's Revenge_?

Sweeney: I'm afraid not.

Anthony: (begins to cry) I didn't know! They just put me on this ship without any instructions, and I don't know what to do! I'm so confused!

(Sweeney leads a sobbing Anthony off the ship.)

Sweeney: It's all right, Anthony. When I was your age, I used to get my musicals confused, too.

(Flashback: Young Sweeney Todd, aka Benjamin Barker, strolls through a flowery market with Lucy Barker, his wife, who is carrying a baby. Suddenly, Lucy places the baby in a fruit bin and begins dancing lasciviously. Benjamin joins her. The music to "Light My Candle" from _Rent _plays. The other shoppers stare at them, flabbergasted. Judge Turpin and Beadle Bamford leer at Lucy from the market's one dark corner.)

Lucy: They say that I have the best ass below 14th Street. Is it true?

Benjamin: What?

Lucy: You're staring again.

Benjamin: Oh, no, I mean, you do have a nice-

Judge Turpin: Benjamin Barker, that is no way to behave at the market! Talking about your wife's ass! The very idea!

Benjamin: Lucy started it!

Judge Turpin: Police! Arrest him!

(Police bop Benjamin over the head and drag him away. Judge Turpin approaches Lucy and puts a hand on her rump.)

Judge Turpin: Now, if you'd like to further discuss your ass, we could go to my mansion and peruse my dirty book collection.

Lucy: Some other time?

(End Flashback.)

Sweeney: (dreamily) Good times.

Anthony: (sobbing harder) That's horrible! Did anyone remember to take the baby out of the fruit bin?

Sweeney: You can see into my flashbacks? Jesus, you're even creepier than I thought.

Anthony: (wailing) I can't help it if I have googly eyes!

Sweeney: This isn't about the googly eyes.

Anthony: OH, IT'S NEVER ABOUT THE GOOGLY EYES, IS IT?

Sweeney: Yeah, I'm leaving now. (Walking away) Stupid London…


	2. You Water Down the Meat?

Scene Three:

_Author's Note: Forgive me, but I forgot to put a disclaimer in the last chapter. That does not mean I own Sweeney Todd and/or its characters. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd and/or its characters. I also don't own __**On the Town**__, __**Rent**__, or __**Harry Potter**__. There, happy?_

**Scene Three: You Water Down the Meat?**

(Sweeney zips through London. Look, a passed-out drunk! Look, a prostitute! Look, more prostitutes! Tim Burton must have watched _Moulin Rouge _before he directed this. Finally, Sweeney reaches a building with a giant window and walks inside. A woman stands behind the counter, giving a lump of dough an ass-whooping it is unlikely to forget. She looks as if she dresses her hair with rat bones. Her name is Mrs. Lovett, and she is awesome.)

Sweeney: Ah, crap. I think I know her.

(Flashback: Young Mrs. Lovett tackles Benjamin Barker and starts kissing him passionately. Lucy Barker and Albert Lovett, Mrs. Lovett's late husband, calmly watch and sip tea.)

Lucy: I don't get it.

Albert: I do, but my gout renders me powerless to stop them.

(End Flashback.)

Sweeney: Yeah, I'll just leave, real quiet-like, and-

Mrs. Lovett: (pulling out a gun) Just where do you think you're going?

Sweeney: I just spent six months on a ship with a weepy sailor who is overly sensitive about his googly eyes. Before that, when I lived in Australia, I had to strangle a kangaroo with my bare hands. Before _that_, when I lived in London, I accidentally drank water from the Thames and hallucinated that King George IV invited me to his orgy. You can't scare me with a gun, lady.

Mrs. Lovett: (putting down gun) Oh. Would you like a pie?

Sweeney: Well, you see, I'd like to, but-

Mrs. Lovett: You just sit down while I water down the meat. Forgive me if I'm acting a bit odd. You see, I haven't had anyone come into the shop for weeks, so I talk to the pies for company. My social skills ain't what they used to be, love.

Sweeney: (taking a seat) Clearly…Did you say that you water down the meat?

Mrs. Lovett: Well, times is hard. I used to smash a bunch of cockroaches and cook them into pies, but then the cockroaches got too fast for me. Then I drew some pictures of food and made people stare at them, but no one would give me any money for that. (Bats her eyelashes) If only some big, strong man would kill things for me, I'd have something to cook.

(Mrs. Lovett places a pie in front of Sweeney. When she turns her back, the pie slithers off the plate.)

Sweeney: (horrified) I'm going to throw up forever.

Mrs. Lovett: What's that?

Sweeney: I mean, why don't you rent the room upstairs and make your tenants hunt the roof pigeons? That should bring in something.

Mrs. Lovett: Not bloody likely. Pigeons are disgusting. Anyway, people say it's haunted.

Sweeney: (confused) Which pigeon is haunted?

Mrs. Lovett: I mean the room, you idiot. You see, something happened up there years ago…something not very nice…

(Flashback: Lucy Barker sits at her window with baby Johanna in her arms, staring at a golden, life-sized statue of a nude Judge Turpin that stands in the middle of the room.)

Lucy: I don't know, Johanna. It just doesn't match the décor.

Baby Johanna: Bah.

(Lucy peeks out the window and sees Judge Turpin and the Beadle. Judge Turpin holds out a bouquet of flowers. Cartoon hearts spew from his ears. Because he is Judge Turpin, the hearts are booger-colored and riddled with holes.)

Lucy: This is so awkward. I'll have to pretend I like the statue, which I totally don't.

Judge Turpin: (shouting) I wish I had a wife instead of this cop!

Beadle: (sobbing) You don't appreciate me, my lord.

(End Flashback.)

Sweeney: (screaming) Would no one have mercy on her?

Mrs. Lovett: What?

Sweeney: Sorry. Go ahead.

Mrs. Lovett: Well, Lucy had an once-in-a-lifetime chance to become Judge Turpin's best ho. Unfortunately, all she wanted to do was sit in her room and write dark poetry about her insanely hot husband who had been shipped to Australia.

(Flashback: Lucy sits in her room with a pen in her hand.)

Lucy: (writing) Oh, Benjamin, what shall I do? You've probably met a kangaroo. Darkness, death, and crystal meth. I cannot draw another breath. I feel really, really shitty, though Judge Turpin says I'm pretty. The sex with you was really great. Now all I do is-

(The Beadle knocks on the door, interrupting her poem. He is dressed as Robin of _Batman and Robin _fame.)

Lucy: (finishing her poem) -Sit and wait. (Sighs) Who is it?

Beadle: It's the Beadle. Judge Turpin wants you to come to his house so he can apologize to you for sending your insanely hot husband to Australia.

Lucy: By "apologize to", do you mean "rape"?

Beadle: Nope.

Lucy: By "for sending my insanely hot husband to Australia", do you mean "in order to teach me a lesson about refusing the great Judge Turpin"?

Beadle: Nope.

Lucy: Alright, then. SOMEONE IN THIS BUILDING TAKE CARE OF MY BABY!!

(End Flashback.)

Sweeney: (screaming) Would no one have mercy on her?

Mrs. Lovett: Close, but no cigar.

Sweeney: (dreamily) I never got to smoke a really fancy cigar.

Mrs. Lovett: Okay, so Lucy went to the party. That's when some really bad shit went down.

(Flashback: A fancy dress ball is taking place at Judge Turpin's mansion. Lucy wanders through the crowd, complaining to anyone who will listen.)

Lucy: This sucks. This really sucks. I'm totally bored right now, I don't know anyone here, and I can't find Judge Turpin. Also, I'm not thrilled about my snack choices. God, I totally should have stayed at home and watched the 19th century equivalent of Nick at Nite. Oh, great, I'm drunk now.

(Judge Turpin pops out of nowhere, wearing a Batman costume.)

Judge Turpin: Hey, Lucy.

Lucy: Hey, Turp. No offense, but your party sucks.

(Judge Turpin pushes her onto the chaise lounge and climbs on top of her.)

Lucy: Hey! You're raping me now! This is great, just great. I'm being raped by Batman while Robin watches. Real classy, Turp.

(End Flashback.)

Sweeney: (screaming) WOULD NO ONE HAVE MERCY ON HER?

Mrs. Lovett: Are you Benjamin Barker, by any chance?

Sweeney: No! It's Todd now, Sweeney Todd, and he shall have his revenge.

Mrs. Lovett: Sweeney Todd? Seriously? That doesn't even sound like a real name. You might as well have called yourself Schmenjamin Schmarker.

Sweeney: This from a woman who runs her business by making horrible pies and talking about rape.

Mrs. Lovett: You'd be surprised. Depressive teenagers love it here. Isn't that right, Brad and Arianna?

(Sweeney notices two depressive teenagers in the corner of the shop. They both look as if a Hot Topic has exploded on them.)

Brad: I guess.

Arianna: Yeah, we can be miserable in peace here. Mrs. Lovett says it's normal.

Sweeney: I AM MORE MISERABLE THAN BOTH OF YOU COMBINED! EVER! (Turns to Mrs. Lovett) WHAT HAPPENED TO MY LUCY?

Mrs. Lovett: She poisoned herself. I think it was the Batman costume that sent her over the edge.

Sweeney: MY LUCY'S DEAD?

Mrs. Lovett: Well, from a psychological standpoint, yes, I suppose you could consider her "dead", but that's such an essentialist category, don't you think?

Sweeney: THAT'S REALLY BORING, MRS. LOVETT. WHAT HAPPENED TO MY JOHANNA?

Mrs. Lovett: Jesus, enough with the all caps. Is this the fifth Harry Potter book or something?

Sweeney: WHO'S HARRY POTTER? I'VE NEVER HEARD OF HIM.

Mrs. Lovett: That was uncalled-for, Mr. Todd.

Sweeney: Sorry. What happened to Johanna?

Mrs. Lovett: Judge Turpin adopted her.

Sweeney: THAT MAKES ME ANGRY!

Mrs. Lovett: You ought to be proud of her, Mr. Todd. He's grooming her to be his best ho now.

Sweeney: YOU'RE NOT HELPING!

Mrs. Lovett: Fine. Do you want to see something shiny?

(Sweeney nods. Mrs. Lovett leads him upstairs and into his old home.)

Sweeney: This isn't very shiny, Mrs. Lovett.

(Mrs. Lovett ignores him and digs under the floorboards. She comes up with a box, which she brings to Sweeney and opens.)

Mrs. Lovett: I know that someone in your state should be nowhere near sharps objects, but-

Sweeney: My friends! My shiny, pretty friends!

Mrs. Lovett: Do you like me now?

Sweeney: Shush. I'm having a personal conversation with my friends. Now I've come home, to find you waiting…

Mrs. Lovett: Waiting, like me, and unlike your stupid, suicidal wife.

Sweeney: If I weren't afraid of castrating myself, my friends, I would have sex with you.

Mrs. Lovett: You can have sex with me without castrating yourself, Mr. Todd.

Sweeney: Go away.

Mrs. Lovett: Humph.

(She exits.)

Sweeney: AT LAST, MY ARM IS COMPLETE…AGAIN! MWA-HA-HA!!

Mrs. Lovett: (from downstairs) BE QUIET, YOU'LL SCARE THE MEAT AWAY!

_Author's Note: In the next chapter, Judge Turpin refuses to pay for Johanna's lesbian wedding._


	3. Ham, Ham, for a Miserable Woman

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed

_Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who left a lovely review! I would like to gather them all into a bouquet and put them on the dining room table, but I haven't figured out how. Speaking of which, the rating of this story has been changed to T. Better take care than need it._

_Disclaimer: Not mine. _

**Scene Four: Ham, Ham, for a Miserable Woman…**

(Anthony walks down the street, mumbling to himself and leafing through a book entitled _Immediate Relief from Emotional Distress_.)

Anthony: (distressed) Everything's going to be fine, just fine. In a year, it won't even matter that I'm trapped in a musical populated by murderers, cannibals, lunatics, and sexual predators. I'm perfectly capable of avoiding a grisly death. After all, I've survived _Little Shop of Horrors_, _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_, _West Side Story_, _Titus Andronicus on Ice_…

(A fly buzzes past Anthony's face.)

Anthony: AH! FIEND! CITY ON FIRE!

(Anthony collapses on a bench and bursts into tears. Meanwhile, Johanna sits by her window and cross-stitches poetry.)

Johanna: (cross-stitching) Oh, I feel such terrible rage. I'm trapped like a bird in a cage. I have yellow hair. My life is unfair. I hope that Judge Turpin turns beige. (Blows smoke off the end of her needle.) Yep. Fastest needle in London.

Judge Turpin: (watching from peephole) Damn. Doesn't that girl do anything but cross-stitch? Why can't she dance sexily or change in the middle of the day for no reason? I swear, sometimes I think she doesn't think about my needs at all.

(Meanwhile, Anthony notices Johanna in the window. Suddenly, he stops sobbing. His staring-at-an-adorable-kitten expression returns.)

Anthony: That's it! I'll devote all of my time and energy to the pursuit of a girl I don't know and have only seen once! It'll be _On the Town _all over again! MY LIFE HAS PURPOSE!!

Johanna: (noticing Anthony) Oh my God, it's someone who isn't my guardian or his disgusting, rodent-like henchman. I find him or her so attractive.

(A Beggar Woman, who is wearing clothes made out of mold, approaches Anthony.)

Beggar Woman: Ham, ham, for a miserable woman…

Anthony: Don't you mean "alms"?

Beggar Woman: I don't know. I'm a crazy old beggar woman, and I want ham.

Anthony: Well, I don't have any ham on me right now, but I can give you these.

(He hands her some coins. She examines them closely.)

Beggar Woman: These are Chuck E. Cheese tokens.

Anthony: I know. The first thing I do when I'm in port is visit the local Chuck E. Cheese. By the way, could you tell me the name of the girl who lives in that house? I want to scream it as I aimlessly wander the streets of London over the next few months.

Beggar Woman: Oh, I wouldn't do that if I was you, even though I love screaming as much as the next deranged person. That's Johanna. Judge Turpin's grooming her to be his best ho. He might get upset if he hears that you plan to feel her, steal her, and sniff her hair all the damn time.

Anthony: He sounds a little overprotective.

Beggar Woman: You could say that. You could also say that he sexually harasses pretty young sailor boys who gander at his ward before letting his disgusting, rodent-like henchman beat them with a retractable cane.

Anthony: Oh, I'm sure that will never happen. I can win them over.

Beggar Woman: By "win", do you mean "inspire predatory lust in"?

Anthony: Nope.

Beggar Woman: By "over", do you mean "because I'm pretty like a girl"?

Anthony: Nope.

Beggar Woman: Alright, then. I'M GONNA WIN A GIANT STUFFED PURPLE MONKEY FROM CHUCK E. CHEESE!!

Anthony: Have fun.

(Beggar Woman leaves.)

Anthony: Oh, Johanna. We're going to be so happy together. I mean, we have so much in common. For example, we both have silent H's in our names. Plus, both of us…um…are humans? Yeah, that's right. I'm not saying that there won't be complications and misunderstandings before we can get married. For example, you might lose your sweater and think that I stole it, when it was really my mischievous identical twin brother, Giovanni. Good times…

(He continues to babble as he approaches the front door of Turpin's mansion. Suddenly, Judge Turpin appears in the doorway. This is as good a time as any to mention that he is wearing tight, gold pants.)

Judge Turpin: Are you lost, little girl?

Anthony: Well, I am lost, but-

Judge Turpin: Why don't you come in?

Anthony: My mother once told me that I should never accept an invitation from a stranger who wears gold pants, but I've already made the decision to devote all my time and energy to the pursuit of a girl I don't know and have only seen once, so okay.

(Judge Turpin leads Anthony into a room full of dirty books and gives him a drink. Beadle Bamford lurks in the corner, as he is wont to do. If Anthony had ever seen a stranger-danger video in elementary school, he would not be in this situation.)

Judge Turpin: So, you're a sailor? That's an interesting career choice for a young lady.

Anthony: I think there's been some mistake, sir. You see, I'm not-

Judge Turpin: I think not!

Anthony: You think not what?

Judge Turpin: You GANDERED at my ward. You GANDERED. You GANDERED, GANDERED, GANDERED, GANDERED-

Anthony: Well, sir, it would have been downright inappropriate to goose your ward.

Judge Turpin: The very idea! Listen, young lady. There is no way I'm paying for Johanna's lesbian wedding. None of your feminine wiles can change that.

Anthony: I don't have feminine wiles! I'm a boy!

Judge Turpin: Seriously?

Anthony: Yes!

Judge Turpin: Damn. (Recovering himself) You're still a sailor, aren't you?

Anthony: Yep.

Judge Turpin: Slut.

Anthony: What did you call me?

Judge Turpin: Would you like to peruse my dirty book collection?

Anthony: Not really.

Judge Turpin: I have pictures of everything you've ever dreamed of doing with a woman.

Anthony: I've actually only done one thing with a woman, sir.

Judge Turpin: What's that?

Anthony: Sex.

Judge Turpin: Well…you see…I meant…oh, forget it. (Hands Anthony a book) Turn to page sixty-three, please. Have you ever done that before?

Anthony: (staring at page sixty-three) Not on purpose, sir.

Judge Turpin: That's it. BEADLE BAMFORD!!

Beadle: Yes, my lord?

Judge Turpin: It's time to break out the retractable cane.

Beadle: Yippee!

(To make a long story short, Anthony ends up on the wrong end of a retractable cane.)

Beadle: Drunkenness, violence, and adultery have won the day!

Anthony: That doesn't make any-

(The Beadle hits Anthony again.)

Anthony: Forgive me. That totally makes sense, now that I have a concussion.

Beadle: That's right. You best stay away, unless you want to end up on the wrong end of my other retractable cane.

Anthony: I'm going to throw up forever.

Beadle: Heh.

(The Beadle goes back inside. Anthony picks himself up and begins to walk away from Judge Turpin's mansion.)

Anthony: That complication/misunderstanding was slightly more painful than I had expected. Don't worry, Johanna. Anthony Hope, boy social worker, is going to remove you from an undesirable home environment.

Bystander: Are you alright, Miss?

Anthony: Maybe I should rethink the whole Percy Bysshe Shelley look.

_Author's Note: Next up, we find out what Pirelli's Miracle Elixir really cures. _


	4. My Lovely Assistant, Toby Mae

Chapter Four: Shopping

_Author's Note: Sorry I haven't updated in so long. I've been abnormally busy. Also, I didn't have any ideas. Not a good combination._

_Disclaimer: I don't own this. C'mon, no author would parody his or her work on . _

**Scene Five: My Lovely Assistant, Toby Mae**

(Mrs. Lovett drags Sweeney Todd through the marketplace. Although this is the same marketplace where the Barkers used to frolic and sing about Lucy's ass, it is no longer flowery. Instead, it looks like an open air sewer. Forgive me; I meant to say "regular sewer". This is because Sweeney Todd's emotions control the scenery. In case you haven't noticed, they also control the score.)

Mrs. Lovett: You know what will cheer you up?

Sweeney: (thinking) Hm…let's see…Lucy…revenge…Johanna…razors…a lifetime supply of peroxide for my hair…revenge…Lucy…puns...revenge…Lucy…a new box for my razors…Johanna…revenge…Lucy…a nice paperback…Lucy…revenge…revenge…

Mrs. Lovett: Guess again.

Sweeney: Anthony's copy of _Immediate Relief from Emotional Distress_? Because I don't think that's working out so well for him.

Mrs. Lovett: That's not it, either.

Sweeney: Anthony's "optimistic" pills?

Mrs. Lovett: No, silly! Shopping!

Sweeney: (sarcastically) Well, I do love purchasing rotten cabbage.

Mrs. Lovett: That's the spirit! I have a plan, too. You see, there's this guy…tight pants…royal blue…he sells…does something…damn, why can't I remember?

Sweeney: It was probably all that ale you drank before we left the shop.

Mrs. Lovett: Not to mention the gin.

Sweeney: And the rubbing alcohol. Mrs. Lovett, I think you may have a problem.

Mrs. Lovett: (face twitching) Oh, no! I was just so _happy _to see you reunited with your pointies.

Sweeney: (dreamily) My pointies.

(Beadle Bamford creeps into the marketplace, gnawing on a hunk of cheese and leafing through Anthony's copy of _Immediate Relief from Emotional Distress_. Yes, he stole it. He enjoys the notes and doodles that Anthony made in the margins.)

Beadle: I see that you have some issues with anxiety, sailor boy. Also, you enjoy drawing dinosaurs and robots. Heh.

(Sweeney Todd spots the Beadle and pulls out his razor.)

Sweeney: (shouting) Hello, Beadle Bamford! I am Sweeney Todd. I intend to kill you and Judge Turpin, so you'd better watch out!

(Mrs. Lovett clamps her hand over his mouth.)

Mrs. Lovett: (also shouting) He meant to say, "Hello, Beadle Bamford! I am Sweeney Todd. I intend to, um, chill you and Judge Turpin, so you'd better watch out!"

(They get odd looks from the marketplace crowd. Beadle Bamford, however, remains oblivious.)

Beadle: You'd never get along with Miss Johanna, sailor boy. She likes to copy pictures from manga. I'm a stick figure man, myself.

Mrs. Lovett: (to Sweeney) Seriously? You thought that was a good idea?

Sweeney: Um…

(Luckily, Sweeney never has to answer that question. A skinny boy in a Dolly Parton wig jumps upon a platform in the middle of the marketplace, carrying an acoustic guitar. His name is Toby, and he has had a Dickensian childhood. He begins to strum the guitar and sing in an annoyingly calm manner, like James Taylor.)

Toby: Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?

Do you wake every day in a terrible bind?

Do you spend all your hours bored out of your mind?

Are solutions for boredom difficult to find?

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have something that might kill the time.

You may never again sit inert on your hind.

You may never again play with pieces of rind.

Ladies and gentlemen, I used to be bored just like you.

Now I've found something to do!

(Toby takes a bottle of purple liquid from his pocket and waves it about.)

Toby: Twas Pirelli's drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs,

Drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs.

True, sir, true!

Drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs,

Drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs.

Like hallucinogens ought to do!

(Toby shoves the bottle at a nearby man.)

Toby: Want to buy a bottle, mister?

It'll make you see things, guaranteed.

(The man unscrews the cap and takes a sip.)

Man: Hey, this tastes an awful lot like-

Toby: Does Pirelli's cause hallucinations?

I'll give affirmations,

That it shall.

Takes a minute,

Before you can begin it,

Sir, just wait a minute!

What the hell…?

(The man storms off, disappointed that he hasn't had hallucinations yet. He tosses the bottle at Mrs. Lovett. She catches it, unscrews the top, sniffs its contents, and passes it to Sweeney. They both grin.)

Sweeney: (loudly) It's Welch's grape juice!

Mrs. Lovett: How wholesome!

Sweeney: Must be snack time at the Methodist preschool.

Mrs. Lovett: Maybe there'll be a sing-along next.

(The crowd begins to mutter and examine the bottles. It is confirmed that the bottles do indeed contain Welch's grape juice. Toby gets flustered and stops singing.)

Toby: Hey! Stop that! It isn't Welch's! I'm selling drugs! Dangerous, psychoactive drugs! Listen to me!

Sweeney: Children seem to love it.

Mrs. Lovett: Moms do, too.

(The crowd laughs. Suddenly, a man in tight royal blue pants bursts onto the platform. His name is Pirelli, and he clearly shops at the same pants store as Judge Turpin. He surveys the crowd, finally resting his gaze on Toby.)

Pirelli: TO-by!

Toby: (sullenly) What?

Pirelli: For Christ's sake, Toby, we talked about this. You were supposed to be in full costume.

Toby: But-

Pirelli: No buts! Put on your housedress and your eye makeup right now!

Toby: But-

Pirelli: What part of "no buts" did you not understand?

Toby: The "no" part, I guess.

Pirelli: Oh. Well, go and slut yourself up.

(Toby goes backstage. Pirelli returns his attention to the crowd.)

Pirelli: Hello. My name is Adolfo Pirelli, and I am an Italian.

Sweeney: You don't sound like an Italian.

Pirelli: My mother was Swedish.

Mrs. Lovett: You don't sound like a Swede, either.

Pirelli: Shut up! I was raised by a wire mommy!

(Toby emerges from backstage. He is wearing a skimpy blue housedress. A clown would consider his makeup too garish.)

Pirelli: Like I was saying, my name is Adolfo Pirelli, and I am an Italian. This is my lovely assistant, Toby Mae.

Toby: Hi.

Pirelli: What you have just witnessed is a trap. Posing as a Jezebel, Toby Mae tried to sell you dangerous, psychoactive drugs. However, these "drugs" are really Welch's grape juice.

Sweeney: Called it.

Pirelli: I guess we all learned a lesson today. What is it, Toby Mae?

Toby: Drugs are bad.

Pirelli: Exactly. Now, who's up for a sing-along?

Mrs. Lovett: Called it.

Pirelli: (singing) I've been redeemed…

Toby: (singing and strumming his guitar) I've been redeemed…

Pirelli: …by the bite of the lamb…

Toby: …by the bite of the lamb…

Pirelli: …I've been redeemed…

Toby: …I've been redeemed…

Both: …by the bite of the LAAAAAAAAAMB. I've been redeemed by the bite of the lamb. Saved by the Holy Ghost I am. All my sins are washed away, I've been redeemed, I've been redeemed…

(Three Hours Later…)

Pirelli: No, you'll never get to heaven…

Toby: No, you'll never get to heaven…

Pirelli: …in a washing machine…

Toby: …in a washing machine…

Pirelli: …no, you'll never get to heaven…

Toby: …no, you'll never get to heaven…

Both: …in a washing MACHIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE! No, you'll never get to heaven in a washing machine, 'cause God only cares if your soul is clean. All my sins are washed away. I've been redeemed. I've been redeemed.

Sweeney: THIS IS ENOUGH!!

Mrs. Lovett: Again with the caps…

Pirelli: What seems to be the problem, Signor?

Sweeney: First of all, your anti-drug skit was poorly conceived. Secondly, you are obviously not Italian. Thirdly, your assistant looks like a cheap whore-

Toby: Hey!

Sweeney: Finally, you obviously made up that last verse. The people of London have had enough. I challenge you to a barber-off.

Pirelli: What?

Sweeney: You. Me. Chairs. Lather. Razors. Right. Now.

Pirelli: But I never said I was a barber.

Sweeney: Too bad. Will Beadle Bamford be the judge?

Beadle: (reading Anthony's book) Hmm, sailor boy likes to highlight.

Sweeney: BEADLE BAMFORD!

Beadle: Oh, yeah. Glad as always to oblige my friends and neighbors. Heh.

(Chairs are set upon the platform. Two unusually enthusiastic men volunteer to be shaved. The contest begins.)

Pirelli: Okay…so, do I put this knife thing on your face or what?

Pirelli's Guinea Pig: Um, yeah. Put the knife thing on my face. I'm sure this won't end badly at all.

(Pirelli slices off his guinea pig's face.)

Pirelli's Guinea Pig: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Pirelli: Oops.

Beadle: I'm pretty sure that slicing off your guinea pig's face disqualifies you, Signor Pirelli. Also, Mr. Todd is much prettier. The winner is Todd!

Sweeney: Slow and steady wins the race, bitch! Fork over the five pounds!

Pirelli: (rummaging through his pockets) Oh, well. I guess I'll just go home and throw bottles of Welch's at Toby Mae.

Toby: But you do that every night!

(Pirelli and Toby disappear behind the stage curtain. Beadle Bamford scurries up to Sweeney.)

Beadle: Do you have a shop, Mr. Todd?

Sweeney: Um…

Mrs. Lovett: He does, and I know for a fact that he'll flirt with you shamelessly if you come over.

Sweeney: Then I'll kill you.

Beadle: What's that?

Sweeney: I'll kill you.

Beadle: I beg your pardon?

Mrs. Lovett: It's a metaphor!

Beadle: A sexy metaphor?

Mrs. Lovett: Yes, sir, the sexiest metaphor. The shop's on Fleet Street, by the way.

(Ominous music plays.)

Beadle: Should I worry about that ominous music?

Mrs. Lovett: No.

Beadle: Alright, then.

(Beadle Bamford leaves.)

Mrs. Lovett: You certainly almost screwed that up, Mr. T.

Sweeney: Whatever. I'm tired and I want some juice. Let's go home.

Mrs. Lovett: Okay.

_Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed. _


	5. I'm a Vampire with Unusually Dry Skin

Scene Six:

_Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! This chapter is fairly short, mostly because the scene is short. The next one will probably be very long though._

_Disclaimer: I do not own _Sweeney Todd_, "My Sharona", or _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_. What else am I going to say in the disclaimer?_

**Scene Six: I'm a Vampire with Unusually Dry Skin**

(A few days later, Anthony stands below Johanna's window, playing air guitar and making guitar-playing noises. These noises, by the way, sound something like "nur". Meanwhile, Johanna watches Anthony from her window, and Judge Turpin watches Johanna through the keyhole. Understandably, Johanna looks frightened.)

Anthony: (singing) Ooh, my little pretty one,

My pretty one,

When ya gonna give me some TIME, Johanna?

Ooh, you make my motor run,

My motor run,

Got it going off of the LINE, Johanna.

Judge: (also singing) Never gonna stop!

Give it up!

Such a dirty mind.

I always get it up,

For the touch of the younger kind.

Judge and Anthony: MY, MY, MY JOHANNA!!

Johanna: I'm officially terrified now. (Looks from the window to the keyhole and then back again.) Okay, Johanna. Time to bite the bullet and pick one of these, um, very attractive options. If I stay with Daddy, I won't have to move. That's one advantage. On the other hand, I'll have to sleep with Daddy. That's a disadvantage. If I run away with that strange sailor, I'll finally get to go outside. That's an advantage. On the other hand, his face bothers me. That's a disadvantage.

(After forty-five minutes, Johanna reaches a conclusion.)

Johanna: Finally, I have not spent the last fifteen years calling the sailor boy "Daddy", which should reduce the creepiness factor of our relationship considerably. Sailor boy it is!

(She retrieves a key from her jewelry box.)

Johanna: (to the key) Will today be the day? Are you ready to fly?

(The key does not reply.)

Johanna: Come on. No one wants to be cooped up here forever.

(The key fails to reply once more.)

Johanna: Too bad. You don't get to decide, because you're a stupid key.

(She tosses the key out of the closed window, breaking the glass.)

Anthony: (noticing the key on the ground) Hey, how'd you get here? (Looks up and sees the shattered glass) Oh. Oh! (Picks up the key and begins to examine it) Hm, I wonder what this thing unlocks. I hope it's a magic wardrobe…

Johanna: Oh, no.

Anthony: …or a secret garden…

(Johanna opens the window and leans out of it.)

Johanna: The key goes to my house, stupid!

Anthony: (to himself) Oh my God, she spoke to me. What do I do now? I didn't expect to have a conversation so soon in our relationship. I mean, that's Victorian second base. Okay, just act normal. (To Johanna) Stop that! I did not consent to this!

Johanna: What?

Anthony: Nice weather we're having!

Johanna: Are you kidding? It's been cloudy and humid for fifteen straight years.

Anthony: I'm a vampire with unusually dry skin.

Johanna: What?

Anthony: I have to go!

(Anthony runs away, drenched in his own flop-sweat.)

Johanna: Well, at least he's afraid of me.

Judge Turpin: (from keyhole) I don't suspect a thing!

_Author's Note: In the next chapter, Pirelli gets his feelings hurt with a heavy teapot._


	6. That Would Be Lazy Plotting, Mr T

Scene Seven: That Explains Why It Smells Like Fried Baloney

_Author's Note: Okay, this chapter does not contain Pirelli getting his feelings hurt with a heavy teapot. That'll be the next chapter. Hope you enjoy anyway._

_Disclaimer: It's not mine, I swear! I just saw it on your doorstep! It was about to fall over, so I adjusted it a little! I'M TOO YOUNG TO BE A MOTHER! Ahem. _

**Scene Seven: That Would Be Lazy Plotting, Mr. T.**

(Mrs. Lovett sits in a chair and watches as Sweeney Todd applies peroxide to his white hair streak. The peroxide bottle was a gift from the smitten Beadle.)

Mrs. Lovett: I know it's not much of a chair, but it'll do. Belonged to my poor Albert. Sat here all day, he did, after his leg gave out with gout.

Sweeney: Well, that explains why it smells like fried baloney. (Squints at himself in the mirror.) Crap. I think I turned it orange. Why did the Beadle buy this cheap-ass peroxide, anyway?

Mrs. Lovett: Well, it's the thought that counts. The creepy, creepy thought.

Sweeney: And why hasn't he come over? He said he'd be here before the end of the week, and it's Tuesday! Tuesday! Can you believe that bastard?

Mrs. Lovett: But Tuesday isn't the end of the-

Sweeney: It is in Australia!

Mrs. Lovett: Mr. Todd?

Sweeney: What?

Mrs. Lovett: Wait.

(A long silence follows.)

Sweeney: Well?

Mrs. Lovett: Well, what?

Sweeney: Aren't you going to sing a song about how I should be more patient?

Mrs. Lovett: Why bother? I mean, I sing about something that I want, like having sex with you or selling pies. Then you ignore me and sing about something you want, like killing people or…killing people. Then-

(Anthony bursts inside.)

Anthony: Mr. Todd! Mr. Todd! Guess what?

Sweeney: You know, Anthony, when I left you at the docks, I had the idea that you were a very minor character whom I would never meet again. Sadly, I appear to have been mistaken.

Mrs. Lovett: That would be lazy plotting, Mr. T.

Anthony: Exactly! Thanks, strange lady. (To Sweeney) Anyway, I just wanted to give you the invitation. (Hands Sweeney a piece of paper) It isn't much, I'm afraid. I found the stationary wrapped around a dead fish, but I think it looks okay. (To Mrs. Lovett) Would you like one? I was going to invite Melvin, resident rapist of the _Bountiful_, but then I realized that I don't like him all that much. I'm not sure why…

Mrs. Lovett: (wrinkling her nose at the invitation) No, thanks, love. I'll just use Mr. Todd's. What's it for, anyway?

Anthony: It's for…well, let Mr. Todd read it. I want to hear how it sounds aloud.

Sweeney: (reading aloud) "Dear Sir or Madam, you are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. Anthony Hope and Miss Johanna MacGuffin, taking place at St. Dunstan's Chapel at noon. Please bring snacks! Love, Anthony Hope. P.S. Don't tell Judge Turpin!"

(Anthony grins and performs a little tap dance while Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett exchange dumbstruck glances. Mrs. Lovett is the first to recover.)

Mrs. Lovett: That was certainly…enthusiastic.

Anthony: I know, right? I'm going to her house tonight so I can steal her. You know, in a totally nonthreatening and consensual way. We went to Victorian second base, so I think we're ready for marriage. Anyway, she threw me her key. (Grins.) She wants me to put a key in her lock. (Blushes.) Excuse me, I have to-

Mrs. Lovett: Sit and wait?

Anthony: Yes. Exactly. (To Sweeney) Do you mind if I bring her here tonight? Beadle Bamford told my landlady to tell me that he had "met someone else" and no longer liked me "in that way". I'm not exactly sure what he meant, but my landlady threw my stuff into the street and accused me of wanting to marry a cocker spaniel. (Frowns.) I'm going to miss her. She reminded me of my mom.

Mrs. Lovett: Bring the girl here, love. (To Sweeney) That alright with you, Mr. Todd?

(Sweeney twitches slightly.)

Mrs. Lovett: Let's take that as a yes.

Anthony: Yay!

(Anthony exits.)

Mrs. Lovett: Well, Mr. Todd, it looks like everything is going to work out just fine, just like in most movies with the word "demon" in the title. I bet all of the plotlines will be tied up in five minutes, don't you?

Sweeney: I still hate everything, except revenge.

Mrs. Lovett: What about Lucy?

Sweeney: Dead.

Mrs. Lovett: Johanna?

Sweeney: Engaged to an _Anchors Aweigh _castoff who dreams of moving to Candy Land and opening a cotton candy factory.

Mrs. Lovett: Oh, you can always kill him.

Sweeney: I'm not really at the "killing people because it's convenient" stage of my character arc. I'm still at the "killing people because they hurt my Lucy" stage. (Strolls over to the window and looks out.) Hey, it's Pirelli! I wonder if it's convenient to kill him.

Mrs. Lovett: No, surely not!

_Author's Note: The next scene has a teapot. Seriously._


	7. I'm a Little Teapot!

Scene Eight: I'm a Little Teapot

_Author's Note: Finally, I am able to present the teapot scene. To everyone who reviewed, thank you. Reviews are very, very encouraging._

_Disclaimer: You know, I feel bad enough about not owning Sweeney Todd without it being rubbed in my face all the time. But, you know, I don't._

**Scene Eight: I'm a Little Teapot!**

(Mrs. Lovett rushes down the stairs outside the shop. Pirelli waits at the bottom with Toby, who nods appreciatively at her low-cut gown.)

Pirelli: Stop that! You're making me look unprofessional.

Toby: Oh, that ship has sailed. The whore's already out of the barn.

Pirelli: Toby!

Toby: What?

Pirelli: I believe the expression is, "The horse is out of the barn".

Toby: I'm pretty sure it's "whore".

Pirelli: No, it's "horse".

Toby: Trust me, it's "whore".

Pirelli: Horse!

Toby: Whore!

(Mrs. Lovett reaches the bottom of the stairs.)

Mrs. Lovett: Now, Toby, that's not a very nice thing to call Signor Pirelli, even if his tight royal blue pants leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Pirelli: They sure don't!

Mrs. Lovett: What do you want, anyway?

Pirelli: Money…recognition…ladies of easy virtue…tighter pants…

Mrs. Lovett: I mean, why are you here?

Pirelli: Oh, that. I want to see Mr. Todd.

Mrs. Lovett: He's busy.

Pirelli: Doing what?

Mrs. Lovett: Brooding.

Pirelli: I'll just take my chances, then.

Mrs. Lovett: You do that. I'm sure nothing violent and blood-splattered will happen. (Glances at Toby.) Can I feed your pet street urchin?

Pirelli: Why would you want to do a thing like that? He'll only get hungry again.

(Mrs. Lovett stares at him blankly.)

Pirelli: Oh, fine. Don't say I didn't warn you. (Starts to climb up stairs) Women! Always with the feeding of the children…

Mrs. Lovett: (to Toby) How would you like a meat pie? Theoretically, they're edible.

Toby: How would I like a meat pie? Mum, you could draw me to fire, you could draw me to water, you could draw me to gallows, you could draw me to any death!

Mrs. Lovett: What?

Toby: I mean, boy, do I love food!

(Meanwhile, Pirelli interrupts Sweeney's brooding by knocking on the upstairs door.)

Sweeney: GOD! CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I'M BROODING HERE?

Pirelli: (opening the door) Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I just wanted to let you know that I am… (Pauses for dramatic effect)…NOT ITALIAN!

Sweeney: Oh, that's right. Your mother's Swedish.

Pirelli: I am also… (Pauses)…NOT HALF-SWEDISH!

Sweeney: Yes, I remember. You were raised by a wire mommy.

Pirelli: I am also… (Pauses)…NOT SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN RAISED BY A WIRE MOMMY!

Sweeney: That's nice, Signor Pirelli. Now will you leave me alone? I have some very important brooding to do.

Pirelli: ARGH! (Takes a few deep breaths.) I came here to blackmail you because you're…BENJAMIN BARKER!

Sweeney: BENJAMIN BARKER?!

(Meanwhile, Mrs. Lovett force-feeds Toby a pie made from fingerless gloves.)

Mrs. Lovett: Now, Toby, you're what I like to call a "captive customer". And a very good one you are, too!

Toby: GLURF! (Translation: Mum, if it would please you, I would allow you to force-feed me a billion of your fingerless glove pies!)

Mrs. Lovett: I like to see a man with a healthy appetite. Reminds me of my poor husband Albert. You know, he was the world's third fattest man. He never got any farther than that, so he grew bitter and finally attempted to eat my leg. That's when I broke out my special strychnine pie…

Toby: YURG! (Translation: Mum, I don't care if you murdered a billion oversized husbands. I would still love you for your ample bosom and willingness to give me food!)

Mrs. Lovett: Of course, he didn't tramp himself up like you do.

(She sighs and stops force-feeding Toby, who finally gets to swallow his pie.)

Toby: To tell the truth, it takes an awful lot of time to get ready in the mornings. (Removes his housedress, high heels, and Dolly Parton wig so that he looks like a normal street urchin.) There, that's better. If you don't mind, would you fetch me hard liquor and makeup remover?

Mrs. Lovett: What took you so long?

Both: PARTY! WHOOOOO!

(Meanwhile, upstairs, Sweeney flop-sweats while Pirelli laughs evilly.)

Pirelli: MWA-HA-HA! MWA-HA-HA! (Composes self.) I suppose you want to hear all about how I made my evil plans?

Sweeney: Um…not really.

Pirelli: MWA-HA-HA! I'll tell you anyway.

Sweeney: Let me guess. When you were a young, impoverished boy, you used to work in my shop. You'd gaze at my shiny pointies and dream sad little dreams. Although we only met in passing, you've obsessed over me and my razors all these years. Am I right?

Pirelli: Oh, come on, Ben. It's not that complicated. I mean, you're still a barber. You live in the same flat. The same chick drools over you, and you don't notice, just like always. For Christ's sake, you call yourself Sweeney Todd! Who do you think you're fooling? I mean, just because you streak your hair…

Sweeney: OH, IT'S ON!

(Sweeney grabs the teapot off the stove and starts bashing in Pirelli's head.)

Sweeney: IT'S NATURAL, BITCH!

(Meanwhile, downstairs, Mrs. Lovett and Toby are well on their way to inebriation.)

Mrs. Lovett: (singing) Nembutal…

Toby: (also singing) Numbs it all…

Mrs. Lovett: But I prefer…

Both: ALCOHOL!

(Meanwhile, upstairs, Sweeney continues to be violent.)

Sweeney: I'M A LITTLE TEAPOT, SHORT AND STOUT! HERE IS MY HANDLE! HERE IS MY SPOUT! WHEN I GET ALL STEAMED UP, THEN I SHOUT, "TIP ME OVER AND POUR ME OUT!"

(Meanwhile, downstairs, the drunken singing continues.)

Mrs. Lovett and Toby: And everybody says, "Is he all right?" And everybody says, "What's he like?" And everybody says, "He sure looks funny." That's just Montgomery Clift, honey!

(Meanwhile, upstairs, Sweeney stops beating Pirelli and collapses into his chair.)

Sweeney: I AM VIOLENT!

(Meanwhile, downstairs, the author gets tired of typing "meanwhile".)

Mrs. Lovett: (slurring her words) How'd you end up with that tight-trousered freak, anyway?

Toby: He got me out of the workhouse. I was standing in the gruel line, wearing this really tight sweater, when he came up to me and said, "Kid, I'm going to make you a star." Then I said, "Oh, gee, mister, I don't know what to say." Then he said, "It doesn't matter what you say, because I hold all the power in this relationship." I thought that he made a very convincing case, so I left with him. Three years later, I'm selling Welch's to gullible shoppers, and I've yet to see a cent.

Mrs. Lovett: That's nice, dear.

Toby: What I really want to do is act, though. Do you want to hear my monologue?

Mrs. Lovett: Well, see, I'd love to, but-

(Toby climbs onto the table and spreads his arms dramatically.)

Toby: (clears throat) Ahem! I love seeing youth betray their promise! It lights up all the numbers on my pinball machine. God must've had a pretty careless worker on the assembly line when I came along. I would rather ignore them than lie to them. I would rather be dead than laugh at them. You hate me for killing your mother. No, I could never hate you. How much would you be willing to pay for that, Aunt Vi? CRANBERRIES! CRANBERRIES!

(Toby takes a bow, climbs off the table, and gazes at Mrs. Lovett expectantly.)

Mrs. Lovett: What the…?

Toby: Don't worry! It's supposed to make you queasy. It's experimental! (Slaps himself on the forehead.) Shit! I forgot that Signor Pirelli had an appointment with his tailor to get his pants retightened.

Mrs. Lovett: Is that even possible?

Toby: I don't know, and I'll never find out if I don't remind him of his appointment!

Mrs. Lovett: Well, we can't have that.

(Toby runs upstairs and into the barber shop, where Sweeney is polishing his razor. Pirelli is nowhere in sight.)

Toby: Where's Signor Pirelli?

Sweeney: He's in a better place right now. Somewhere where the pants are tighter, the women are looser, and the money flows like wine.

Toby: He went to Las Vegas without me? That bastard!

Sweeney: Why don't you run along and play with Mrs. Lovett? I have to sharpen my razor so it'll be easier to slit Pirelli's throat.

Toby: Huh?

Sweeney: I mean, she'll give you more pie.

Toby: I don't know. I have all this wool and leather trapped between my teeth from the last one.

Sweeney: (to himself) God, what else do kids like? Lollipops? Licorice? Liquor? Liquor! (To Toby) What if she gave you some gin? Would that make you go away?

Toby: You bet it would! (Singing as he staggers down the stairs.) Bottle of wine, bottle of wine, when you gonna let me get sober? Leave me alone, let me go home, let me go home and start over!

Sweeney: I'm Sweeney Todd the barber. Tra-la-la-la-la-la!

(He walks over to the trunk and opens it. A blood-splattered Pirelli slowly rises from it.)

Pirelli: What did I do last night? (Looks up at Sweeney.) Oh, yeah. I tried to blackmail that guy. Crazy!

(Sweeney slits Pirelli's throat. Pirelli makes a bunch of gurgling noises and bleeds on Sweeney's shirt.)

Sweeney: CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!

_Author's Note: In the next chapter, we get to hear advice from the ultimate ladies' man, Beadle Bamford._


	8. A Stressful Orgy at the Opium Den

Scene Nine: A Stressful Orgy in the Opium Den

_Author's Note: Here's another short chapter that parodies a short scene. The next one covers "Pretty Women" and possibly "Epiphany", so it should be very long. I love all the reviews I've gotten. It's great to here what people like._

_Disclaimer: Me? Own Sweeney Todd? What a charming notion but, unfortunately, not one supported by fact._

**Scene Nine: A Stressful Orgy in the Opium Den**

(Judge Turpin sits in court, glaring at an infant. His wig is slightly askew. Beadle Bamford stands to the side, looking creepy as always.)

Judge: (to the infant) Look, kid. I know you're young. (To the Beadle) How old is he?

Beadle: Three months and five days.

Judge: Well, that's no excuse. (To the infant) Also, you technically haven't committed any crime, aside from having a bad case of colic. Frankly, though, I get pissed when some crying baby keeps me from enjoying a pleasant walk in the park, particularly when I've just returned from a stressful orgy in the opium den. TO THE GALLOWS WITH YOU, SIR! I AM VERY EVIL! MWA-HA-HA!

(The baby cries. Judge Turpin leaves the courthouse. Beadle Bamford follows.)

Beadle: That was so AWESOME! Most Victorian English judges are severe, arbitrary, and completely deaf to the pleas of the disenfranchised, but you, sir, take the profession to a new low! If I didn't have huge, sadistic crushes on the pretty sailor boy and the hot barber, I would totally be into you.

Judge: Too bad. I'm taken.

Beadle: What?

Judge: In order to shield her from the evils of the world, I have decided to marry my dear Johanna.

(After a moment of silence, Judge Turpin and Beadle Bamford burst into gales of hysterical laughter.)

Beadle: Good one, O Most Honorable Judge Turpin!

Judge: I know, right? (Recovers himself.) Yesterday, I went to her and said, "Hey, baby doll, how would you like to marry Daddy?" (Frowns.) Then she started screaming and crying and vomiting and cross-stitching things like "Mrs. Anthony Hope (hey, it's better than Mrs. Judge Turpin and, as a sixteen-year-old girl in Victorian England, I don't have a whole lot of options)" on her sampler. What does it all mean?

Beadle: Excuse me, my lord, but ladies in their sensitivities…well, they just don't want to screw you.

Judge: No, surely not!

Beadle: Seriously, my lord, have you ever asked yourself why none of the sex that you've had in the last twenty years has been consensual on your partner's part?

Judge: Are you suggesting that there's something wrong with being a serial rapist?

Beadle: Of course not! It'd just be nice if you had other options. (Gestures to a window.) Look at yourself! There's powder upon your vest, my lord-

Judge: I knew that I should've changed clothes after last night's cocaine binge.

Beadle: (ignoring the judge) And there's stubble upon your cheek. You see, my lord, ladies like men who are clean and soft and pretty, like themselves. I mean, look at sailor boy. He's poor, he's stuck in a dead-end career, and he's not that bright. Yet, because he's well-groomed, all the ladies want him to help them escape from their tyrannical, lecherous guardians.

Judge: Since when are you an expert on women?

(The Beadle winks. Then he opens his coat, revealing issues of _Seventeen_,_ YM_, and, most disturbingly,_ American Girl Magazine_.)

Judge: AWESOME!

Beadle: Just wait until you see my _Boy's Life _collection.

Judge: What?

Beadle: Nothing! Did I mention that I know this hot barber who can make you look less like an old skin-bag?

Judge: TO THE BARBER SHOP, THEN!

Beadle: By the way, O Your Wondrous Judiciousness, since you're planning to marry Miss Johanna, can I have the sailor boy?

Judge: How many times do I have to tell you, Beadle? If you want to molest people, you're going to have to catch them yourself. For Christ's sake, I'm a busy man. I have a job! Has it ever occurred to you that I might want to do some molesting of my own?

Beadle: Sorry, O Judgmental One.

_Author's Note: In the next chapter, Judge Turpin makes Sweeney want to throw up._


	9. Yes, Sir, and Performing Tap Dances!

Scene Ten:

_Author's Note: This chapter only includes "Pretty Women" and the tiniest bit of "Epiphany", because I have Big Plans for the fantasy sequence, or whatever it's called. Anyway, this was five pages on Microsoft Word, so it's a decent length, at least. Enjoy. Also, thanks for reviewing!_

_Disclaimer: If you think that I own this, you've probably been sharing a glass with Lucy Barker. In other words, no I don't. _

**Scene Ten: Yes, Sir, and Performing Tap Dances!**

(Toby sits with Mrs. Lovett in her shop, guzzling gin from the bottle.)

Mrs. Lovett: You might want to slow down, lad. There won't be enough left for me to get a decent buzz at this point.

Toby: Don't tell me what to do, woman. (Gazes at her.) Do you want to see a picture I drew of us? I call it "Portrait of Me with My Head Cushioned on the Snow-Covered Hills of Mrs. Lovett's Chest".

Mrs. Lovett: That's nice, dear. I think I'll go check on Mr. Todd.

Toby: You go do that, mum. (Sighs.) I'll just drown my sorrows in gin while you devote yourself to another man.

Mrs. Lovett: Wonderful, dear. I'll just-

Toby: (interrupting her) Oh, God! Oh, God! How flat, stale, weary, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!

Mrs. Lovett: How lovely, dear!

(She rushes upstairs, where Sweeney is busy brooding.)

Mrs. Lovett: Good Lord, Mr. Todd, that boy can hold his liquor! Gets a bit sentimental, but still… (Notices the bloodstain on his shirt.) Is that…character development?

(Sweeney nods. Mrs. Lovett opens the lid of the trunk, sees Pirelli's corpse, and slams the trunk close.)

Mrs. Lovett: Was that really necessary, Mr. T.? I mean, sure, he was a nasty little man, but still. I'm beginning to think that you aren't 100 sane.

Sweeney: It was convenient!

Mrs. Lovett: Well, then, that's different.

(She proceeds to open the trunk and strip Pirelli of his purse, jewelry, bobby-pins, and everything else that isn't bloodstained.)

Mrs. Lovett: Waste not, want not.

Sweeney: Why would you want Pirelli's underpants, though?

Mrs. Lovett: No reason. Heh.

(Sweeney sighs and looks out the window. He spots Judge Turpin with the Beadle.)

Sweeney: Oh-my-God-oh-my-God-oh-my-God! This is like Christmas and my birthday and the Second Coming and Pizza Day at the prison all rolled into one! (Lets out a girlish squeal.) Look at me, Mrs. Lovett! How do I look? Do I look okay?

Mrs. Lovett: You have a bloodstain on your shirt.

Sweeney: Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no! What should I do? Should I go shirtless? Would that be weird? Can I borrow one of your shirts, Mrs. Lovett? No, wait, I can't do that. You're a woman. WHY ARE YOU A WOMAN, MRS. LOVETT? YOUR LADY PARTS HAVE RUINED MY LIFE! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW, MRS. LOVETT? HUH? ARE YOU?

Mrs. Lovett: No, but-

Sweeney: What if I dipped my shirt in blood? Then I would have a red shirt! He wouldn't suspect a thing!

Mrs. Lovett: Or you could wear a jacket.

Sweeney: Oh. Yeah. (Puts on jacket.) Now get out of here, Mrs. Lovett, before you ruin my vengeance with your quick thinking and brilliant plans!

(Mrs. Lovett leaves. In a few moments, Judge Turpin enters.)

Judge: Mr. Todd?

Sweeney: MWA-HA-HA! MWA-HA-HA! MWA-HA-HA! (Rubs hands together in an evil manner before putting on a straight face.) Yes, I am Mr. Todd. You must be Judge Turpin. I'm going to kill…I mean, thrill you with my skill in barbering today.

Judge: How did you know my name? Are you, by any chance, Benjamin Barker?

Sweeney: Nope.

Judge: (sighing with relief) It would be so awkward if you were. See, I kind of…well, it's a little embarrassing.

Sweeney: Oh, do tell.

Judge: I transported him to Australia for life as punishment for a crime that he didn't commit. Then I raped his wife, who poisoned herself afterwards. Now I'm planning to force his teenaged daughter to marry me. I call it my "Evil Trifecta". (Sighs.) Man, if you were him, I bet you'd be filled with murderous rage right now.

Sweeney: (suppressing an urge to vomit) Why don't you sit in this chair and close your eyes while I hold a sharp object to your face?

Judge: That sounds great. (Sits in the chair.) Ah, isn't love-or, as I like to call it, obsessive lust with incestuous implications-awesome?

Sweeney: Uh-huh. (Begins to shave Judge Turpin.) You know what else is awesome? Women.

Judge: Oh, my God! You like women, too? What a strange coincidence!

Sweeney: Pretty women!

Judge: Pretty? I was going to go with "naked" or "promiscuous".

Sweeney: (to his razor) I'm going to have such a good time killing this bastard.

Judge: What did you say?

Sweeney: Nothing, sir.

Judge: I'm pretty sure you said that you were going to kill me.

Sweeney: Me? Kill you? How delightfully absurd! Why don't we list all the mundane things that pretty women do?

Judge: Like refusing my advances?

Sweeney: Yes, sir, and performing tap dances!

Judge: Memorizing sonnets!

Sweeney: Purchasing bonnets!

Judge: Buttering toast!

Sweeney: Burning the roast!

Judge: Practicing voodoo!

Sweeney: Losing the Battle of Waterloo!

Judge: Catching the measles!

Sweeney: Wrangling weasels!

Judge: Holding grudges!

Sweeney: Killing judges!

Judge: Huh?

(Anthony bursts inside.)

Anthony: Mr. Todd! Mr. Todd! You've got to help me! Tim Burton cut "Kiss Me"! He won't even include a scene where Johanna and I _talk _about running away and getting married, let alone _sing_! My character will be woefully underdeveloped! (Sees Judge Turpin.) Oh, shit.

Judge: You? Elope with my Johanna! The very idea!

Anthony: Oh, no, sir. She's not _your_ Johanna. She's Johanna Silberstein, the watchmaker's daughter, who lives on Chancery Shoe Court Lane Street. She has absolutely no connection with you whatsoever.

Judge: I don't care! I'll stop you anyway! (To Sweeney) I can't believe you're friends with him! He has googly eyes and, besides, the Beadle says he's a tease.

(Judge Turpin storms out of the shop.)

Sweeney: Anthony?

Anthony: Yes?

Sweeney: We're not friends anymore.

Anthony: But…there's only us. There's only this. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. No other road, no other way. No day but today!

Sweeney: Anthony.

Anthony: Yes?

Sweeney: You cannot do _Rent _right now. I'm in no mood.

Anthony: But…but…

Sweeney: OUT, I SAY! OUT!

(Anthony runs out the door, down the stairs, and across the street, singing all the while.)

Anthony: I can't control…

Sweeney: Control your temper!

Anthony: …my destiny.

Sweeney: He doesn't see…

Anthony: I trust my soul!

Sweeney: Who says that there's a soul?

Anthony: My only goal is just to be!

Sweeney: Just let me be!

(A breathless Mrs. Lovett enters.)

Mrs. Lovett: I just got a call from the _Rent _fandom! Apparently, Roger Davis started singing about how "we all deserve to die" or some such nonsense. Then he held a razor to Mimi's throat. Of course, it was a safety razor, but still, everybody's very upset. They're saying that it's your fault. What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Todd?

Sweeney: Do you remember my last fragments of sanity?

Mrs. Lovett: Yes. Fondly.

Sweeney: I seem to have misplaced them.

_Author's Note: In the next chapter, Sweeney searches for the mythical Raintree. Or perhaps he does not._


	10. It's Like Pride and Prejudice But Stupid

_Author's Note: Okay, so it's been a while since I updated. I've been at camp for the past two weeks. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews. Over one hundred! Yay! To celebrate, I have written perhaps the strangest chapter in this strange tale. It's also long. Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own _Sweeney Todd_, _Pride and Prejudice_, _Three's Company_,_ A Place in the Sun_, or_ Raintree County_. _

**Scene Eleven: It's Sort of Like **_**Pride and Prejudice**_**, But Stupid**

(Seconds later, Mrs. Lovett sits in the barber chair while Sweeney holds a razor to her throat.)

Sweeney: WE ALL DESERVE TO DIE!

Mrs. Lovett: You mean that rhetorically, right?

Sweeney: Shut up! I'm trying to tell you about my new mission in life!

Mrs. Lovett: Which is…?

Sweeney: Killing everyone.

Mrs. Lovett: May I ask why?

Sweeney: I just told you. We all deserve to die. Even you, Mrs. Lovett. Even I.

Mrs. Lovett: If you don't mind me making a suggestion…

Sweeney: (hurt) What? Don't you like my plan?

Mrs. Lovett: It's a wonderful plan, Mr. T. It's just that, if you kill yourself, you won't be able to kill anyone else.

Sweeney: True…

Mrs. Lovett: And if you kill me, the building will go to my sexy cousin, aka the Relative OC, and you'll have to deal with her.

Sweeney: You mean, kill her? I can do that!

Mrs. Lovett: Oh, no, Mr. T. The author wouldn't allow that. Instead, you'd be forced to fall in love with her!

Sweeney: (lifting razor from Mrs. Lovett's throat) But…but…that's horrible! Who is this "author" you speak of?

Mrs. Lovett: (holding a flashlight under her chin, campfire-style) No one knows!

(Sweeney screams. Mrs. Lovett giggles.)

Mrs. Lovett: It's really quite terrifying. You see, at first you'd be a taciturn asshole to her, just like you are to everyone else. As a result, she'd dislike you. Then you'd find yourself drawn to her sexiness and spunky personality. Then she'd find herself drawn to your mysteriousness, or some other such bullshit. Then you two would trade tragic past stories, which would help you understand each other. Then she'd find out that you killed me, but she'd forgive you because you're so damn sexy. It's sort of like _Pride and Prejudice_, but stupid.

Sweeney: Well, we can't have that. I'll just find somewhere else to live after I kill you.

Mrs. Lovett: Good luck with that. (Pause.) I have news for you, Mr. Todd: the real estate bubble has burst. The only way you'll find another place is if you pretend to be gay and move in with two single girls. Comic misunderstandings and homophobia-based humor will ensue!

Sweeney: But I'm so used to tragic misunderstandings and murder-based humor! I could never adjust to that kind of life!

Mrs. Lovett: It's not a buyer's market, Mr. T.

Sweeney: (sighing) I guess I can't kill you, then. It's really a shame, since I kind of planned my whole day around it.

Mrs. Lovett: What?

Sweeney: (taking out day planner) Oh, you know the drill. (Reading from day planner) Eight o' clock, stare listlessly at breakfast. Nine o' clock to twelve o' clock, brood. One o' clock, stare listlessly at lunch. Two o' clock to five o' clock, pace and plot revenge. (Glancing at Mrs. Lovett) I call _that _multi-tasking. (Returning to planner) Five o' clock, threaten to kill Mrs. Lovett. Six o' clock, kill Mrs. Lovett. Six-fifteen, take a snack break. Six-thirty, dispose of the body. Seven o' clock, dance around the house in my underwear. (Closes planner.) As you can see, you've upset a lot of plans. Now what am I supposed to do?

Mrs. Lovett: You could always make sweet, sweet love to me by the fire. The fire in the bake house oven, I mean.

Sweeney: That's icky. Think of something better.

Mrs. Lovett: Humph.

Sweeney: Please?

Mrs. Lovett: Well…you could always have a fantasy sequence.

Sweeney: Yes. I think I'll do that. (Sticks razor in pocket.) Don't wait up. This might take a while.

Mrs. Lovett: Have fun.

(She takes a magazine from her cleavage and begins to read. Sweeney teleports himself outside and brandishes his razor.)

Sweeney: Bourgeois scum! I shall kill you all! Yes, you, with your silky top hats and pimp canes! Fear me, for I am…SWEENEY TODD! MWA-HA-HA!

(Two gentlemen watch him.)

First Gentleman: (rolling his eyes) He just _had_ to become a serial killer. God forbid he become a Communist or write polemical novels.

Second Gentleman: Yeah! Why doesn't he accidentally-on-purpose drown his pregnant girlfriend in a rowboat like normal people?

First Gentleman: Dude. That's not normal.

Second Gentleman: It is for me.

First Gentleman: What the hell is wrong with you?

(Sweeney notices the gentleman chatting.)

Sweeney: Shut up! (Pause.) Hey, you aren't supposed to be able to see or hear me. I'm having a fantasy sequence!

First Gentleman: If you don't mind me saying so, sir, you were being rather loud.

Second Gentleman: And behaving rather oddly.

First Gentleman: And looking rather freakish.

Sweeney: That's kind of my thing.

Second Gentleman: Well, our thing is dipping snuff and repressing our sexualities, but you don't see us shouting about it.

First Gentleman: Yeah! So, if you wouldn't mind, sir…

Sweeney: (interrupting) THE ROAD I WALK IS PAVED WITH BLOOD!

Second Gentleman: Maybe we should leave?

First Gentleman: Yes, let's.

(The gentlemen leave.)

Sweeney: (calling after them) Yeah, you better run!

(Pirelli enters. He is now a zombie.)

Sweeney: Holy shit! Are you…are you…?

Zombie Pirelli: Zombie Pirelli? Yeah, that's me.

Sweeney: This is kind of awkward for me, seeing as I killed you.

Zombie Pirelli: You feel bad about it?

Sweeney: Nah, not really. My heart, libido, and guilt-bone shriveled up many years ago, so I'm pretty much incapable of feeling most things.

Zombie Pirelli: That's too bad.

Sweeney: You have no idea. I feel so…numb inside.

Zombie Pirelli: Isn't the point of numbness that you don't feel anything?

Sweeney: What?

Zombie Pirelli: Nothing. Hey, you wanna race?

Sweeney: Are you challenging me to…a contest?

Zombie Pirelli: Yep.

Sweeney: OH, IT'S ON!

(Sweeney and Zombie Pirelli begin to strip off their jackets in preparation for the race. Beadle Bamford enters.)

Beadle: Hey, guys. What're you doing?

Sweeney: Well, I'm about to kick Zombie Pirelli's ass in racing. Does that answer your question?

Beadle: Yes. Yes, it does. (Pause.) Hey, how about we make this a little more interesting?

Zombie Pirelli: How?

Beadle: Drinking contest! (Whispering to Sweeney) Don't worry! I've rigged it!

Sweeney: What?

Beadle: I replaced your bourbon with iced tea.

Sweeney: Damn. I could've really used a drink right now.

Beadle: You may have a point. Anyway, it'll be easier for me to seduce you if your vision is blurred. (Pause.) Of course, I tried that on sailor boy. Didn't work out so well. Turns out he's a crying drunk. He kept whining about how hard it is to be the prettiest sailor on a ship full of men who haven't seen a woman since God knows when. (Shakes his head indulgently.) Kids today! They don't know how good they've got it! Let me tell you, I would have given my left-

Sweeney: (interrupting) How about that bourbon?

(Tomfoolery ensues. Sweeney and Zombie Pirelli get drunk and break some furniture while attempting gymnastics. Finally, they race. Sweeney wins. Anthony appears and crowns his head with a wreath of laurels, which promptly falls off because it is terrified of his hair.)

Sweeney: Shit!

Anthony: Never stop searching for the Raintree, Johnny!

Sweeney: What? Who's Johnny? What's the Raintree? What the hell are you talking about?

(Anthony shrugs. Sweeney teleports himself into his shop. Mrs. Lovett glances at him over her magazine.)

Mrs. Lovett: Did you have a good time?

Sweeney: I found out something today, Mrs. Lovett. My head is a batshit insane place, and no one should ever go there again. Ever. Also, I should never listen to your advice.

Mrs. Lovett: That's too bad.

Sweeney: Why?

Mrs. Lovett: I just had a great idea.

Sweeney: For the last time, Mrs. Lovett, we are not going to start our own chapter of the Babysitters' Club.

Mrs. Lovett: Better than that! (Pause.) You know how you were planning to kill everyone?

Sweeney: Go on.

Mrs. Lovett: Well, what if I took your victims' corpses and made them into pies?

(Silence.)

Mrs. Lovett: Or, you know, not.

Sweeney: Finally! Someone who understands my ideals!

Mrs. Lovett: Your ideals?

Sweeney: You know, killing. Butchering the rich to feed the poor. Butchering the poor to feed the poor. Et cetera.

Mrs. Lovett: I'm really just in it for the financial gain. And your approval.

Sweeney: Baby, I don't care. Come, let us spend the evening making puns and filling the heads of Sweenett shippers with beautiful dreams that can never come true!

_Author's Note: If you have written a story that features a Relative OC, please believe me when I say that I don't mean to offend you. I'm sure that your story is well-written and does not feature a scene where the Relative OC says, "Yeah, whatever," in response to the discovery that Sweeney Todd has killed her (apparently beloved sister/cousin/aunt/etc. If it does, I'm sorry._


	11. A Fistful of Pills and a Bottle of Vodka

_Author's Note: Here's another chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed! For the record, I fully support Sweenett. _

_Disclaimer: Not mine._

**Scene Twelve: A Fistful of Pills and a Bottle of Vodka**

(Hours later, Johanna goes through her packing list in her bedroom. Her bird listens.)

Johanna: Okay, do I have my bird? Check. Bird paraphernalia? Check. Cross-stitching kit? Check. Cleavage-revealing dresses? Check. _Nymphomaniacs of the Mediterranean_, swiped from Daddy's porn library? Check.

Bird: Tweet.

Johanna: Don't be so judgmental! I mean, have you seen my future husband? On our wedding night, he'll either ask if I take English money or start whimpering about how little sleep he got at sea. Thanks, but I'll take matters into my own hands. (Pause.) Do you think Daddy ever showed him page sixty-three?

Bird: Tweet!

Johanna: You're just jealous because you're not getting any!

(Judge Turpin barges into room.)

Judge Turpin: SLUT!

Johanna: FILTHY SCUM-SUCKING TRANNY CRACK WHORE BAG!

(Judge Turpin blinks.)

Johanna: I mean, what?

Judge Turpin: You carry a lot of anger inside, don't you?

Johanna: You bet. Now, what did you want to say?

Judge Turpin: Nothing. Just that you're a slut for anything in bell bottoms.

Johanna: Hippies, you mean?

Judge Turpin: Sailors, Johanna. Sailors. The nineteenth century has no hippies, except for Henry David Thoreau. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?

Johanna: Well, Henry David Thoreau's nice, but he's not really my type…

Judge Turpin: Not about that! About _this_!

(He gestures towards Johanna's packing case. Johanna laughs nervously.)

Johanna: Well, I certainly wasn't packing to elope with that weird sailor who sings at my window, if that's what you're insinuating.

Judge Turpin: What were you doing, then?

Johanna: I was playing a game.

Judge Turpin: Oh? What game?

Johanna: "Packing to Elope with That Weird Sailor Who Sings at My Window".

Judge Turpin: You really don't get out much, do you?

Johanna: Yeah. Wonder why.

Judge Turpin: (sighing) I'm so glad to hear that you aren't really eloping with sailor boy. It would certainly put a hitch in our wedding plans. Anyway, Beadle Bamford totally saw him first.

Johanna: Like hell he did! I saw him from my window two scenes before the Beadle ever laid eyes on him! Where is that bastard? I'll teach him to steal my man!

Judge Turpin: Your man?

Johanna: Shit!

(Beadle enters and bares his cheese-encrusted teeth at Johanna.)

Beadle: Did you just call dibs on sailor boy?

Johanna: Do you even know his name?

Beadle: I don't need to. We share a special bond that can only develop between the perpetrator and the victim of a severe beating. Did you ever beat him near senseless, Miss Johanna? Huh? Did you? Did you?

Judge Turpin: I think you owe Beadle Bamford an apology, Johanna.

Johanna: What? Why?

Beadle: You knew I liked sailor boy, but you threw yourself at him anyway. (Starts to sob.) I thought you were my friend! Remember when we used to curl up on the couch and watch _Beaches _and eat ice cream straight from the carton?

Johanna: You must be thinking of the Judge.

Beadle: Remember when we were in the Army together and those large men stole your wallet and you had to box them for it and I held you after they beat you up real bad?

Johanna: You're thinking of Noah Ackerman.

Beadle: Remember when we formed an alliance with Batman in order to fight crime in Gotham?

Johanna: That was Harvey Dent.

Beadle: Remember when-

Judge: (interrupting) The point is, you broke my heart, Johanna. You broke my heart. Whenever I look at you, I feel as if my heart has shattered into a trillion pieces which are now puncturing my other internal organs. (Sighs.) I have no choice but to send you away.

Johanna: YES!

(Giggling, she dances about the room. Nonplussed, the Judge and the Beadle watch her.)

Judge: This is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you…

Beadle: Clearly.

Johanna: (singing) I could have DAAAAAAAAAANCED all night! I could have DAAAAAAAAAANCED all night! And still have begged for more! I could have SPREAAAAAAAAAAD my wings! And done a THOUSAAAAAAAAAAND things! I'd never done before!

(She grabs the Beadle and spins him around the room.)

Johanna: Come, Beadle! Let us blow this joint!

(She drags him down the stairs, out of the front door, and into a waiting carriage. Sniffling, the Judge follows. Anthony stumbles out of the shadows, holding a fistful of pills and a bottle of vodka. The carriage drives away.)

Anthony: Johanna! Johanna, I need to talk to you! I saw things! Horrible, horrible things! Mr. Todd was there, and a zombie, and…and…oh, God!

(He swallows the pills and takes a swig of vodka before staggering towards the Judge.)

Anthony: Where are they taking her? Tell me or I'll…I'll…

Judge: Kill me, boy?

Anthony: No, not that. Just let me think! I'll…I'll write in my diary that you're a jerk!

Judge: Well, here I stand! (Pause.) Wait. You'll what?

Anthony: I mean it! I'm drunk and crazy and I don't care what I do! I might even accidently-on-purpose forget to pray for you tonight! JOHANNA!

(He runs down the street. The Judge watches him go and shakes his head.)

Judge: Beadle Bamford sure knows how to pick them.

_Author's Note: In the next chapter, Sweeney considers a career change. Also, he kills people._


	12. Lightning Crashed Suddenly!

_Author's Note: I'm sorry that I haven't updated in such a long time. I've been busy since school started. Anyway, this is the "chair of evil" scene. It's short, but there you have it. Also, Sweeney Todd does not kill people in this scene. Nor does he consider a career change. You see, I'd forgotten about the "chair of evil" scene when I wrote that author's note._

_Disclaimer: Not mine._

**Scene Thirteen: Lightning Crashed Suddenly!**

(Meanwhile, Sweeney hacks at his barber chair with two razors. He pauses to inspect his handiwork and then bursts into loud, hiccuppy sobs. Mrs. Lovett enters.)

Mrs. Lovett: I got that nail polish you wanted! (Notices his condition.) Oh, Mr. T. What's wrong now?

Sweeney: What's wrong, Mrs. Lovett? What's wrong? You not buying me a new chair, that's what's wrong!

Mrs. Lovett: I told you: if you want a new chair, you'll have to perform a depraved act involving me, a book about proper etiquette, and no clothes.

Sweeney: Death first!

Mrs. Lovett: Or you could try the Beadle.

Sweeney: I did.

Mrs. Lovett: And?

Sweeney: He wasn't interested.

(Mrs. Lovett gasps.)

Sweeney: I know, right? Apparently, he has a huge, sadistic crush on Anthony now, because he's so "troubled". (Scowls.) I have more angst in my hair streak than that little naïf has in his entire body. If people were flowers, he'd be a daffodil and I'd be a flower that kills other flowers with its thoughts.

Mrs. Lovett: I don't know, Mr. T. He did hold up a liquor store this evening.

Sweeney: Are you even in this scene?

Mrs. Lovett: No. (Eyes the chair.) Has it ever occurred to you, Mr. Todd, that some problems can't be solved with razors?

Sweeney: Blasphemy! (To razors) Don't listen to her, Pollyanna. She didn't mean it, Candide. (To Mrs. Lovett) You hurt their feelings! I hope you're happy, you…you slimy hairball!

Mrs. Lovett: I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. T.

Sweeney: Why?

Mrs. Lovett: Because I hired someone to transform your chair into a death trap.

Sweeney: Not interested, Mrs. Lovett.

Mrs. Lovett: Oh, but you'll like him. He used to be a mild-mannered carpenter until an evil newspaper columnist refused to pay him full price for a table and sold drugs to his dog. Then he turned evil, started killing people with his saw, and insisted on calling himself "Murphy Keith". It's all very sad.

Sweeney: I don't think we'd have much in common. Anyway, I've already transformed my chair into a death trap.

Mrs. Lovett: But…but…what?

Sweeney: In prison, I was forced to transform everyday household objects into death traps for fifteen straight years. I'm upset because this chair is so…so ugly! (Bursts into tears again.) Why did your dead husband have to have such bad taste in furniture?

Mrs. Lovett: I'm not hiring a vengeful interior decorator, if that's what you mean. (Thinks for a moment. Smiles.) I just had the most wonderful idea.

Sweeney: Does it involve cannibalism? Because I'm not interested if it doesn't.

(Ignoring him, Mrs. Lovett retrieves a bottle of nail polish from her cleavage, unscrews the cap, and begins painting "DIE DIE DIE" on the chair.)

Mrs. Lovett: There. Isn't that pretty?

Sweeney: Very pretty. Now get out.

Mrs. Lovett: No.

Sweeney: OUT, I SAY! (Pause.) Oh, and could you give me that nail polish?

(Rolling her eyes, she hands over the nail polish and exits. Lightning crashes suddenly! It's very dramatic.)

Sweeney: Lightning crashed suddenly! MWA-HA-HA!

(He kneels on the floor and continues painting "DIE DIE DIE" on his chair with the nail polish.)

_Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed! In the next scene, all the stuff that was supposed to happen in this scene happens. Also, everybody sings, even the character who weren't supposed to sing. Also, thanks to everyone who reviewed. _


	13. Take the Potato to Ninja Mountain

_Author's Note: Regrettably, this chapter also does not feature Sweeney Todd killing people or considering a new career. In fact, it does not feature Sweeney at all. It is also very short. _

_Before you clench your fists in rage, o gentle reader, let me tell you that the next chapter will be posted by tomorrow evening. It is long and includes those long-promised things, along with a catfight and a rather pointless song from another musical. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Sweeney Todd_. Or "The Name Game". Or _Batman Begins_._

**Scene Fourteen: Take the Potato to Ninja Mountain**

(Later that night, Anthony walks down a deserted street, still clutching his vodka bottle. The terrified citizens of London peek at him from their windows.)

Anthony: (singing) I feel you, Johanna… (Stops singing.) Nah, that's not right. It makes me sound like a psychic, which I'm not, except for my amazing ability to see into other people's flashbacks and dream sequences. (Singing) I feel you… (Stops singing.) Or maybe it makes me sound like one of those people who rub themselves against other people on crowded subways. I'm not sure what they're called. Anyway, I'm not singing this filthy trash anymore. (Singing) Johanna-banna-fo-fanna-me-my-mo-manna-oh-God-I-can't-do-this-anymore-Johanna!

(He dissolves into tears. The Beggar Woman enters, approaches him, and tugs on his sleeve.)

Anthony: FOR THE LAST TIME, YOU'LL HAVE TO GO TO ZOMBIE PIRELLI IF YOU WANT HAM!! (Takes a few deep breaths.) I'm sorry, crazy lady. I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm just having a psychotic breakdown, that's all.

Beggar Woman: That's no excuse, young man. I have eleven psychotic breakdowns a week, but I always mind my manners.

Anthony: I know. (Pause.) Speaking of psychotic breakdowns, aren't you supposed to be screaming about Satan right now?

Beggar Woman: I saw that you were in distress and decided to take time from my busy schedule of screeching to give you some advice.

(She hands him a potato. He stares at it.)

Anthony: So, potatoes symbolize advice when you're insane? (Pause.) I have so much to learn from you, crazy lady.

Beggar Woman: That's not what I meant! (Lowering her voice) Just take the potato to Ninja Mountain. They'll teach you how to be a ninja _and _deal with your various mental and emotional issues.

Anthony: That sounds unlikely. However, you are a crazy homeless woman and this is a movie, so I should probably listen to what you say.

Beggar Woman: True.

Anthony: I am forever in your debt, crazy lady.

Beggar Woman: You're welcome, sailor boy. JUMBO PUFF AROID BIJOU!!

Anthony: I feel the same way, crazy lady.

(He hugs her and skips down the street, presumably in the direction of Ninja Mountain.)

_Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reviewing!_


	14. Slip into Something More Comfortable

_Author's Note: Guess what? I finished early!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own _Sweeney Todd_, any movie featuring Jean Harlow, "Oom-Pah-Pah" or any other song from _Oliver!_, Harper Lee's _To Kill a Mockingbird_, Betsy Byars' _The Pinballs_, or Henry David Thoreau. I think that covers all of my references._

**Scene Fifteen: Just Let Me Slip into Something More Comfortable...**

(Meanwhile, in his shop, Sweeney sings as he shaves a nondescript man.)

Sweeney: And are you beautiful and pale, with yellow hair, like her?

Nondescript Man: Actually, no. No, I'm not. I mean, I like to think I'm not bad-looking, but beautiful? C'mon. Anyway, I'm no paler than the average Englishman, so there's no need to make personal remarks. Plus, my hair is clearly brown. A few gray hairs, but mostly brown. Of course, it was lighter when I was a baby, but it was light brown by the time I started pre-

(Sweeney slashes his throat and pushes the lever on the chair. Instead of landing in the bake house, the body lands on the table in the middle of the pie shop. This interrupts Mrs. Lovett and Toby's gin-drinking contest.)

Toby: Um, Mrs. Lovett?

Mrs. Lovett: Yes?

Toby: Why did a corpse with a slit throat just fall from the ceiling?

Mrs. Lovett: Um…well…you see…Mr. Todd decided to try his hand at, um…surgery. Yeah, that's it. Surgery. As you can see, he's not very good at it yet.

Toby: Right…

Mrs. Lovett: Could you do me a favor, love?

Toby: Yes! Oh, my God! Of course! What do want me to do? Rob a bank? Tear out my spleen? Petition for your inalienable right to eat human baby hearts for breakfast?

Mrs. Lovett: Close. I'd like you to create a distraction outside the shop, so no one looks inside and thinks that Mr. Todd's a murderer, I mean an unsuccessful surgeon.

Toby: Sure thing, mum! Just let me slip into something more comfortable…

(He runs into the parlor, presumably to find something more comfortable. Meanwhile, Sweeney shaves a man with crazy eyes and a long neck.)

Sweeney: And if you're beautiful, what then, with yellow hair, like wheat? I think we shall not meet again, my little lamb, my sweet!

Long-Neck-Crazy-Eyes: I think that's best, Mr. Todd. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with a barber who keeps asking me if I'm pretty. Creepiness factor aside, shouldn't you be able to tell whether I'm pretty or not? You know, with your eyes? My God, am I being shaved by a blind man? That's…that's…out-

(Sweeney slits his throat and pushes the lever. Another body lands on the pie shop table. Mrs. Lovett bangs her head against the wall. Just in the nick of time, Toby comes bursting into the room, wearing his old housedress and wig. He glances at the new corpse.)

Toby: Another unsuccessful surgery?

Mrs. Lovett: Never mind that! Go distract the people of London with your trampy antics!

(Toby runs outside and begins coquettishly lifting his skirt for the benefit of the most perverted passerby. When that doesn't suffice, he begins to sing.)

Toby: Oh, there's a little ditty,

They're singing in the city,

Especially when they've been on the gin or the beer.

If you've got the patience,

Your own imagination,

Will tell you just exactly what you want to hear.

Oompah-pah! Oompah-pah!

That's how it goes!

Oompah-pah! Oompah-pah!

Everyone knows!

They all suppose what they want to suppose,

When they hear oompah-pah!

(A small crowd forms around him. Inside the pie shop, Mrs. Lovett breathes a sigh of relief and starts dragging the corpses to the bake house. Meanwhile, Sweeney stares plaintively out of the window.)

Sweeney: Goodbye, Johanna! You're gone, and yet you're mine. I'm fine, Johanna! I'm fine, except for the fact that I'm no longer the least bit sane. Also, Mrs. Lovett's pet street urchin keeps singing show tunes in front of the shop. And Mrs. Lovett keeps talking to me for some reason. I think she wants to go to the beach. Or eat a peach. Or go forth once more into the breach. I really have no idea. Also, I'm not sure about this whole barber thing. I mean, sure, I'm good at it, and it gives me the opportunity to kill people. I just wonder if it's what I want to do with the rest of my life. Maybe I should be a carpenter, like Murphy Keith. Think about it: I'd have, like, twenty weapons at my disposal. Besides, that Murphy Keith is one classy fellow. Or maybe I should become a businessman. Yeah, that's it! A businessman! I could carry a briefcase and do paperwork and talk about...um…business-y things? Yeah, business-y things… I don't know how I'd kill people, though.

(Meanwhile, more people gather around Toby as he begins a new verse.)

Toby: Mr. Percy Snodgrass,

Would often have the odd glass,

But never when he thought anybody could see.

Secretly, he'd buy it,

And drink it on the quiet,

And dream he was an Earl with a girl on each knee!

(Toby takes a bottle of gin out of his dress pocket and guzzles down the whole thing. The crowd cheers and joins in the song.)

Toby and Crowd: Oompah-pah! Oompah-pah!

That's how it goes!

Oompah-pah! Oompah-pah!

Everyone knows!

What is the cause of his red, shiny nose?

Could it be oompah-pah?

(The Beggar Woman enters.)

Beggar Woman: What do I see before my crazy eyes? A street urchin leading people in a song that has little to no relevance to the plot? AAAHHH! FIEND! HELP! DEVIL! APOCALYPSE! ET CETERA!

(Everyone ignores her and keeps singing.)

Toby and Crowd: What is the cause of his red, shiny nose?

Could it be oompah-pah?

(Meanwhile, Mrs. Lovett watches the spectacle from inside the pie shop.)

Mrs. Lovett: Serves Tim right for cutting all the crowd songs.

(Meanwhile, Sweeney shaves an old man with fancy white hair.)

Sweeney: And if I never hear your voice, my turtledove, my dear, I still have reason to rejoice! The way ahead is clear! Johanna…

White-Hair-Fancy-Man: Would you mind not singing while you shave me? It makes me nervous. I know it sounds strange, but I was brutally assaulted by a barber shop quartet at the tender age of six. (Bursts into tears.) They harmonized the whole time, too!

(Sweeney ignores him.)

Sweeney: And in that darkness when I'm blind with what I can't forget, it's always morning in my mind, my little lamb, my pet! Johanna!

White-Hair-Fancy-Man: (tearful) You're blind? What kind of barber are you? I trusted you with a sharp object and my face!

(Sweeney slits his throat and pushes the lever. Another corpse falls on the table. Mrs. Lovett groans. Finally, she throws up her hands and joins Toby's crowd. Toby hitches up his dress and starts another verse.)

Toby: Pretty little Sally,

Goes walking down the alley,

Displays her pretty ankles to all of the men.

They can see her garters,

But not for free and gratis.

An inch or two and then she knows when to say when!

(The crowd hoots and hollers. Toby notices Mrs. Lovett and gestures for her to join him at the front of the crowd, which she does. Everybody sings the chorus.)

Toby, Mrs. Lovett, and Crowd: Oompah-pah, oompah-pah,

That's how it goes!

Oompah-pah! Oompah-pah!

Everyone knows!

Whether it's hidden or whether it shows,

It's the same oompah-pah!

Beggar Woman: IS EVERYONE IN LONDON STUPID? DOES NO ONE ELSE NOTICE THE CORPSE IN THE PIE SHOP? WHAT ABOUT THE BARBER UPSTAIRS WHO KILLS PEOPLE IN FRONT OF A GIGANTIC GLASS WINDOW? NO, THAT'S NOT CONSPICUOUS AT ALL! ALSO, THIS IS AN INAPPROPRIATE TIME FOR A DRINKING SONG!

(The crowd eyes Toby and Mrs. Lovett suspiciously. Meanwhile, Sweeney shaves a man wearing an ugly jacket.)

Sweeney: And though I'll think of you, I guess, until the day I die, I think I miss you less and less, as every day goes by! Johanna…

Ugly-Jacket-Man: Ah, that's sweet. Wait, what?

(Sweeney slits his throat and pushes the lever. Another corpse lands on the pie shop table. Meanwhile, Toby and Mrs. Lovett face the crowd, which is threatening to become an angry mob. The Beggar Woman has already forgotten about her outburst and is contently humming to herself.)

Mrs. Lovett: (to crowd) I can explain! (To Toby) Say something innocent and childlike!

Toby: What?

Mrs. Lovett: Angry mobs eat that stuff up.

Toby: They're going to eat us?

Mrs. Lovett: I wouldn't rule it out. Go on, say something!

Toby: (to Crowd) Hi, Mr. Cunningham! Entailments are bad! I think. Maybe. Um…

Crowd: THAT'S NOT VERY INSPIRING!

Toby: Jesus…um…hey, anyone ever notice that the beggar woman is a prostitute? In the musical, at least. And on the movie soundtrack. So…let's talk about that instead, shall we?

Mrs. Lovett: Yes, let's! (Points to Beggar Woman.) WHORE!

Beggar Woman: That's a bit harsh. However, I do technically sleep with men in exchange for money. So, GO STRANGLE CHICKENS IN HELL, YOU FILTHY STREET-WALKING HARRIDAN!

Crowd: OOH.

Toby: You two carry a lot of anger inside, don't you?

Beggar Woman: Yeah.

Mrs. Lovett: Wonder why.

Crowd: CATFIGHT!

(Mrs. Lovett and the Beggar Woman have a staring contest. Then they remove their fingerless gloves and lunge at each other. Untidy hair is pulled. Feelings are hurt. The crowd is thrilled.)

Crowd: NOW THAT'S INSPIRING!

(Toby breaks up the fight, much to the crowd's chagrin.)

Crowd: WE FEEL CHAGRINED!

Toby: Yeah, well, too bad. (To Mrs. Lovett) You want to sing the next verse?

Mrs. Lovett: I'd rather finish this catfight.

(Toby pouts. Mrs. Lovett sighs and begins to sing the next verse, gesturing to the Beggar Woman all the while.)

Mrs. Lovett: She was from the country,

But now she's up a gum tree!

She let a fellow feed her and lead her along!

What's the use in crying?

She's made her bed to lie in.

She's glad to bring the coin in and join in this song!

Toby, Mrs. Lovett, Beggar Woman, and Crowd: Oompah-pah, oompah-pah!

That's how it goes!

Oompah-pah, oompah-pah!

Everyone knows!

She is no longer the same blushing rose,

Ever since oompah-pah!

(Meanwhile, Sweeney shaves one lucky bastard who thought of bringing his wife and daughter.)

Sweeney: (to himself) Must…not…kill…in…front…of…family. (To Lucky Bastard) I see you've brought your family with you! That's so sweet. Of course, it makes me all sad inside because I used to have a wife and daughter just like yours, but-

Lucky Bastard: (interrupting) Actually, this isn't my whole family. Harvey's been in the hospital since I accidentally-on-purpose ran over his legs with the car.

Sweeney: (to himself) Too…many…witnesses… (To Lucky Bastard) That's too bad. A car…is that like a carriage?

Lucky Bastard: (ignoring Sweeney) Of course, Social Services will probably take away the kids when they find out that I hit them whenever they lose at Scrabble.

Sweeney: (to himself) Not…right…to…kill…in…front…of…women… (To Lucky Bastard) That's nice. A lot of people don't spend enough time with their children.

Lucky Bastard's Wife: Kill him! For the love of God, kill him!

(Unfortunately for her, Sweeney is too busy staring plaintively out of a window. Meanwhile, Toby, Mrs. Lovett, the Beggar Woman and the crowd are having a grand old time.)

Toby, Mrs. Lovett, Beggar Woman, and Crowd: Oh, there's a little ditty,

They're singing in the city,

Especially when they've been in the gin or the beer.

With a little patience,

Their own imaginations,

Will tell them exactly what they want to hear.

Oompah-pah! Oompah-pah!

That's how it goes!

Oompah-pah! Oompah-pah!

Everyone knows!

They all suppose what they want to suppose,

When they hear oompah-pah!

(Everyone dances awkwardly. Meanwhile, Sweeney shaves an untidy man.)

Sweeney: Wake up, Johanna! Another bright red day! We learn, Johanna, to say goodbye…

His Royal Untidiness: Actually, I prefer Mr. Bellingham. I mean, Johanna's a lovely name, but I don't understand why my mother couldn't have gone the more traditional route and named me John, or Joseph, or Joshua. I guess she was just trying to fit in with Henry David Thoreau and the rest of her hippie friends. You know, I've spent half of my life trying to track down Henry David Thoreau so I can-

(Sweeney slits his throat and pushes the lever. Another body lands in the pie shop. No one downstairs notices. Sweeney sighs.)

Sweeney: I guess I should call Murphy Keith. He'll fix it so the bodies will go straight to the bake house. Then I'll have more time to stare mournfully at Lucy's picture and apply to business school. (Sighs.) Good times…

_Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed! In the next chapter…well, I won't promise anything, because I'll be sure to change my mind later. _


	15. That Titular Line Was Satisfying

_Author's Note: The usual apologies. I had a fifteen page term paper to write about the trials of Oscar Wilde. And some other stuff. It's a long, uninteresting story. Oh, and thanks to everyone who reviewed._

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Sweeney Todd_, Johnny Depp's hotness, _Batman Begins_, any gross indecency trials, _Les Miserables_, or Jack the Ripper. _

**Scene Sixteen: That Titular Line Was...Satisfying**

(Later, Sweeney paces about his shop and stares out of the window.)

Sweeney: Must…kill…now…

(Basically, nothing has changed since we saw him last. Tim Burton is just giving us another chance to bask in Johnny Depp's hotness. Meanwhile, Toby is singing/shouting at the people of London in front of the pie shop.)

Toby: Do they think that walls can hide you? Even now I'm at your window! I am in the dark beside you…sweetly buried in your yellow hair! Johanna!

(Mrs. Lovett pokes her head out of the pie shop. She looks more glittery than usual.)

Mrs. Lovett: Toby!

Toby: What?

Mrs. Lovett: You're supposed to be singing about my delicious pies, not some girl that you've never met. Do you even know who she is?

Toby: Of course I do! She's a metaphor for opium. (Batting his eyelashes at Mrs. Lovett) It also describes my feelings for you, coincidentally. You know, because you're like a drug that makes me happy. And sleepy. But that's probably because of all the gin you give me. (Pause.) Anyway, Anthony said I could have his song before he went to Ninja Mountain. I expect he's too busy for singing there, what with being surrounded by highly trained ninja-psychologists. So, yeah. More songs for me. (Singing) I'll steal you, Johanna! I'll steal you!

Mrs. Lovett: Well, love, that's… um…very interesting. I didn't even know that you knew the sailor.

Toby: Didn't I tell you? It's actually a funny story. You see, we testified at the same gross indecency trial last year…

Mrs. Lovett: (interrupting) Toby, isn't it about time you stopped futzing around and started serving people pies, I mean serving pies to people?

Toby: I still have three more songs left! (Singing) Food beyond compare! Food beyond belief! Put it in the grinder and then call it beef!

Mrs. Lovett: TOBY! DO YOU WANT TO BE BAKED INTO URCHIN PIE?

Toby: Huh?

Mrs. Lovett: It's a metaphor!

Toby: A sexy metaphor?

Mrs. Lovett: Um…maybe?

Toby: Good enough for me!

(He runs into the pie shop, grabs a plateful of pies, and begins serving them to everyone in the courtyard. Mrs. Lovett follows him and proceeds to flaunt her financial success and cleavage in front of the customers.)

Mrs. Lovett: Hi, customers! How're you doing? What's that? You're _not _running an extremely successful pie shop? You're _not_ displaying veritable mountains of cleavage? You _don't _have an awesomely sparkly new dress? Well, suck it! Suck it, all of you!

(The Beggar Woman charges into the courtyard.)

Beggar Woman: By "suck it", do you mean "question how my pie making skills improved so suddenly"?

Mrs. Lovett: TOBY!

(Toby puts down his plate o' pies and starts snapping a towel at the Beggar Woman.)

Beggar Woman: What is this, a boys' locker room?

(Undaunted, Toby keeps on snapping. The Beggar Woman leaves…for now! Mrs. Lovett turns to the crowd.)

Mrs. Lovett: See what I just did there? I threw someone out of my shop. Yeah, that's right. You're _scared _of Mrs. Lovett now. Do you know why? It's because I'm a badass. B-A-D-A-S-S!

(The crowd trembles in fear. Actually, the crowd just keeps stuffing its collective face, but Mrs. Lovett doesn't seem to notice. Toby continues to serve the customers, discreetly sampling their drinks.)

Mrs. Lovett: I remember how all of you used to talk about me behind my back! You gossiped about my financial problems, my lack of cooking skills, the dark circles underneath my eyes, my excessive drinking, the possibility that I accidentally-on-purpose poisoned my late husband, and my hot sordid affair with Jack the Ripper! Well, who's poor, bad at cooking, haggard, drunk, murderous, and sexually involved with a serial killer now?

(Once again, the crowd is unmoved. Toby sighs and guzzles an untended pint of ale.)

Crowd: WE WANT FOOD!

Mrs. Lovett: Oh, now you _want _something from Mrs. Lovett, huh? Well, too bad, because we're out of pies. (Pause.) Oh, crap. We're out of pies.

Crowd: FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!

(Toby drinks another pint of ale. Suddenly, Sweeney emerges from his shop.)

Sweeney: Must…kill…now…

Lefty the Crowd Member: Oh, you're taking customers now?

Sweeney: (whipping out his razor) You bet your about-to-be-slit throat I am!

Lefty the Crowd Member: Cool! (To himself) It's probably just some kind of fancy barbering term.

(Lefty the Crowd Member climbs the stairs. Sweeney ushers him into the barber shop, pausing a moment to look back at Mrs. Lovett.)

Mrs. Lovett: Squee! (To the crowd) Forget what I said about being out of pies!

Crowd: Squee!

Toby: (staring at barber shop) I hate him, I hate him, I hate him…

(Enter the Beggar Woman.)

Beggar Woman: (pointing at Mrs. Lovett) WITCH!

Mrs. Lovett: TOBY!

Toby: MRS. LOVETT!

Beggar Woman: TOBY!

Toby: WITCH!

Beggar Woman: MRS. LOVETT!

Mrs. Lovett: WITCH!

Toby: TOBY!

Mrs. Lovett: MRS. LOVETT!

Crowd: GOD, THAT'S GOOD!

(A long silence follows.)

Beggar Woman: Wow.

Mrs. Lovett: That titular line was…satisfying.

Toby: I think I need a cigarette.

(And so ends a typical evening at Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium.)

_Author's Note: In the next scene, Sweeney takes a terrifying trip into Mrs. Lovett's mind._


	16. Stay in School, Mrs Lovett

_Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! As promised, this chapter takes us on a terrifying journey to the center of Mrs. Lovett's mind. Hope you enjoy. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own _Sweeney Todd_, _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_,_ The Sound of Music_, _Batman Begins_, the other Mr. T., Harley Quinn, Kafka, John Lennon or his sunglasses, Raggedy Ann, the other "By the Sea", Jane Austen, or Oscar Wilde. I do have a winter coat with "Fleet Street Wool" on the label, so that's something. _

**Scene Seventeen: Stay in School, Mrs. Lovett**

(Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett sit on a picnic blanket in the country. This makes the country look more sinister than it should. The audience keeps expecting the Headless Horseman to appear and behead somebody. Instead, Toby dances wildly in the background. He's very excited; this is the first time he's breathed air.)

Toby: THE HILLS ARE ALIVE…WITH THE SOUND OF MUSIC!

(Meanwhile, Mrs. Lovett tells Sweeney about the latest installment of _The Amazing Adventures of the Ninja who Had a Bachelor's Degree in Psychology_, her favorite newspaper serial. Instead of listening to her, Sweeney tries to kill a blade of grass with his mind.)

Sweeney: C'mon…c'mon, die already…

Mrs. Lovett: (oblivious) Then the ninja pinned the troubled young man to the ground, pointed a katana at his face, and yelled, "Your father's death was not your fault!" And then the troubled young man said, "Not that you can prove, anyway." And then the ninja said, "Huh?" Isn't that crazy, Mr. T.? (Pause.) Mr. T.?

Sweeney: (to blade of glass) I pity the fool who falls under my angry gaze of death!

Mrs. Lovett: Are you even listening to me, Mr. T.?

Sweeney: Stay in school, Mrs. Lovett.

Mrs. Lovett: Okay, I get it. You don't want to be called Mr. T. anymore. Are you listening to me now, Sunshine Muffin?

Sweeney: Uh-huh.

Mrs. Lovett: Then what did I just say?

Sweeney: There must be a way to the judge.

Mrs. Lovett: That's not what I said at all!

Sweeney: Sorry. I wasn't listening.

Mrs. Lovett: ARGH! (Composes herself. Smiles. Looks disturbingly like Harley Quinn.) Oh, Mr. Todd. I'm so happy. I could eat you up. I really could.

Sweeney: That's just about the most disturbing thing I could hear you say, Mrs. Lovett.

Mrs. Lovett: (ignoring him) Do you know what I'd like to do if our kill-and-cook operation continues to rake in the cash?

Sweeney: Build an elaborate, Kafkaesque death machine that I could use to kill the judge?

Mrs. Lovett: No, silly! I'd like to live by the sea.

(A long silence follows.)

Sweeney: Well?

Mrs. Lovett: Well, what?

Sweeney: Aren't you going to sing a song about how you'd like to live by the sea?

Mrs. Lovett: Thanks for reminding me!

Sweeney: Oh, crap.

(Suddenly, Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett are sitting on the beach. Mrs. Lovett dons John Lennon sunglasses and a sailor suit/bathing dress that wouldn't look out of place on a Raggedy Ann doll. Somehow, this makes her look more badass than usual. Sweeney wears a bathing suit that looks suspiciously like a jailbird outfit. He notices his surroundings and starts to whimper.)

Sweeney: Where…where are we, Mrs. Lovett?

Mrs. Lovett: By the sea, of course!

Sweeney: But…how did we get here?

Mrs. Lovett: I teleported us here with my mind.

Sweeney: YOU DID WHAT?

Mrs. Lovett: Oh, please. Like you've never used your mind to teleport yourself?

Sweeney: This is different. Bad different. (Looks down at his outfit.) Nice, Mrs. Lovett. Real nice.

Mrs. Lovett: Heh. (Peers into the distance.) I think I see Toby coming this way.

Sweeney: Why is _he _in your fantasy?

Mrs. Lovett: He's adorable and he makes me feel good about myself.

(Enter Toby, carrying a margarita. He nods appreciatively at Mrs. Lovett's legs.)

Toby: Nice, mum. Real nice. (Glares at Sweeney.) What's _he_ doing in your fantasy?

Mrs. Lovett: He's adorable and he makes me feel…well, not _good_. I certainly wouldn't say _good_. Aroused is more like it. Yep. Aroused and scared.

Toby: That's not very healthy, mum.

Mrs. Lovett: Don't judge me, Toby! A woman has needs!

Sweeney: As much as I hate to admit it, Mrs. Lovett, your pet street urchin is right.

Mrs. Lovett: (singing with her hands over her hears) By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea, you and I, you and I, oh, how happy we'll be! I love the sea, beside the sea, beside the sea, beside the seaside, by the beautiful sea!

(Enter a lady in a fancy white dress and a gentleman in a seersucker suit. Blushing, Mrs. Lovett stops singing and removes her hands from her ears.)

Fancy Lady: Hello, Nellie, dear!

Seersucker Man: Yes, how are you, my darling girl?

Fancy Lady: Do introduce us to your charming friends!

Seersucker Man: And show that mesmerizing thing you were doing with your ears!

Sweeney: (to Mrs. Lovett) Why are _they_ in your fantasy?

Toby: Yeah. Seriously.

Mrs. Lovett: They're fancy! (To Fancy Lady and Seersucker Man) Fancy, Seersucker, have you met my gentleman friend Mr. Todd and my pet street urchin Toby?

Fancy Lady: Why, no! Indeed, they are most diverting!

Sweeney: Huh?

Toby: What did you just call me?

Seersucker Man: The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.

Fancy Lady: Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting situations, that a young person, who either marries or dies, is sure of being kindly spoken of.

Seersucker Man: The one charm of marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.

Fancy Lady: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

Mrs. Lovett: While we're on the subject, I might as well tell you the good news. Mr. Todd and I are getting married!

Sweeney: WHAT? NO!

Toby: DON'T DO IT, MUM!

Fancy Lady: (glancing at Sweeney) Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance.

Seersucker Man: Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious; both are disappointed.

Mrs. Lovett: SHUT UP! THIS IS MY FANTASY, AND I'LL DO WHAT I WANT!

(She snaps her fingers. Suddenly, everyone's in wedding clothes.)

Toby: Maybe the beggar woman's right…

(A Priest appears.)

Mrs. Lovett: It's priest!

Priest: Yes, my child. I am a priest.

Sweeney: Heh.

(Fancy Lady and Seersucker Man laugh uproariously. This is a good time to mention that, in Mrs. Lovett's fantasy, cannibalism is socially acceptable. Toby gapes at everyone in disbelief.)

Priest: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man-

Sweeney: STOP IT! I DID NOT CONSENT TO THIS!

Priest: (ignoring him) –and this woman-

Mrs. Lovett: Squee!

Priest: -in holy matrimony.

Sweeney: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

(Mrs. Lovett snaps her fingers again. Within seconds, Sweeney, Mrs. Lovett, and Toby are sitting on the picnic blanket in the country. Sweeney and Toby sigh in relief. Mrs. Lovett scowls, takes out her hip flask, and drinks.)

Sweeney: Mrs. Lovett?

Mrs. Lovett: Yes?

Sweeney: I do believe that your mind is more deranged than mine, as hard as that is to fathom.

Mrs. Lovett: Thank you, Sunshine Muffin.

Sweeney: Please don't call me that.

_Author's Note: In the next chapter, Sweeney fails to take advantage of technology._


	17. I Know Lots of Bald People

_Author's Note: Hi, everyone! In this chapter, we get to learn about Sweeney's favorite pastime (next to plotting revenge, pacing, and brooding), Lucy's violent past, and Anthony's experience as a ninja. Exciting? Maybe. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Sweeney Todd_, _Mansfield Park_, "Stagger Lee", _Batman Begins_, Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas's relationship with his father, _TheMarvelous Misadventures of Flapjack_, _Harry Potter_, or _A Prayer for Owen Meany_._

**Scene Eighteen: I Know Lots of Bald People**

(After his traumatic outing, Sweeney hides in his shop and stares out the window. Mrs. Lovett enters with a tray.)

Mrs. Lovett: I made pancakes with little bacon-and-egg frowny faces, just like you asked! (Pause.) Are you brooding again, Mr. T.?

Sweeney: No. I'm spying on the neighbors. (Pause.) Would you mind leaving? Mr. and Mrs. Gates are going to act out _Mansfield Park _in the nude, and I'd like to have some privacy while I watch them.

Mrs. Lovett: I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. I can't compete with a horny, literary-minded married couple _and_ your perfect "dead" wife.

Sweeney: Lucy wasn't perfect. She refused to try new foods, threw spitballs at people she didn't like, and was a sore loser. Once she killed a guy because he beat her at cards. (Looks at Mrs. Lovett suspiciously.) Why did you put quotation marks around the word "dead"?

Mrs. Lovett: Because…ah…death is just a…um…construct! Yeah, a construct! It's very complicated and boring. You wouldn't want to hear about it. Trust me.

Sweeney: I will. (Peers out of window.) Look at Mrs. Gates go! I'll never think of Fanny Price in the same way again.

Mrs. Lovett: Fanny. Heh. (Pause.) Can I ask you a question, Mr. T.?

Sweeney: I'd rather you be quiet and let me watch Mr. and Mrs. Gates have crazy naked fun time, but go ahead.

Mrs. Lovett: What did your Lucy look like?

Sweeney: She had yellow hair. (Pause.) Wow! I didn't even know you could do that with a feather duster. That Mr. Gates is one interesting fellow.

Mrs. Lovett: You've got to be kidding me.

Sweeney: No, seriously. He's a pervert of the highest order. Or lowest, depending on your point of view. My God, what have they done with the tea cozy?!?

Mrs. Lovett: I was talking about Lucy. Seriously, you have two pictures of her. You look at them constantly. How could you not remember what she looked like?

Sweeney: I guess I failed to take advantage of technology. Anyway, if you knew about the pictures, why did you ask me what she looked like in the first place?

Mrs. Lovett: I was hoping that you'd realize that Lucy was a distant memory, get over her, and fall in love with me.

Sweeney: What gave you the idea that I would do that?

Mrs. Lovett: It worked in my fanfic.

Sweeney: What?

(Before she has to explain, Anthony suddenly appears in the middle of the room. He can do this because he's a ninja. To say the least, Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett are surprised.)

Anthony: Hi!

Sweeney: (recovering himself) I thought you were still at ninja school, Anthony.

Anthony: I graduated. Basically, this ninja with a bachelor's degree in psychology waved a katana in my face. Then he told me that my mother's death was not my fault, which is weird, because she's still alive and she'd need a heart to die. When I told that to the ninja, he said, "I'm sensing a lot of hostility here. Do you have a good relationship with your mother?" Then I replied, "What do you think? She signed her last letter to me 'Your disgusted, so-called mother'." And the ninja said, "Well, that's her problem, isn't it?" And I shouted, "YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT! IN YOUR FACE, MOM!" Then the ninja laughed and said, "That's what I told her last night." Then I punched him in the face for insulting my horrible mother. The next thing I knew, I was on a train to London with a ninja diploma in my hand. (Frowns.) I'm still really screwed up, though. I'm just way better at beating up people. (Bursts into tears.) Why did the crazy lady lie to me? I trusted her!

Sweeney: Mrs. Lovett lied to you?

Mrs. Lovett: Hey!

Anthony: (tearful) No, I call the beggar woman "crazy lady". Mrs. Lovett is "strange lady".

Sweeney: Good. Because I'd be really, really angry if I caught Mrs. Lovett in a lie. Like throw-someone-into-a-burning-oven angry.

Anthony: (sniffling) What?

Mrs. Lovett: Mr. Todd has a very dark sense of humor, dear.

Sweeney: Yes. I do. (Pause.) Cheer up, Anthony. You're crying so much that I'm starting to think that you're being shipped with me.

Anthony: Sorry. (Pause.) Anyway, I didn't come here to make myself sad. I came to tell you that Johanna's locked in an insane asylum. Actually, I found out, like, two or three scenes ago, but I had to organize my sock drawer and write dark poetry and make a list of my five favorite sea shanties and alphabetize my book collection, which isn't that hard because I have two books, but you know how it is, and-

Sweeney: (interrupting) Pretend to be a wigmaker's apprentice.

Anthony: Now? Okay. (Clears throat.) Hello. I'm a wigmaker's apprentice. I like to make wigs. I think hair is pretty. I know lots of bald people. (Looks at Sweeney expectantly.) Good?

Sweeney: Good. Now go and do that for the people at the insane asylum. Then bring Johanna back here.

Anthony: Okay!

(He exits.)

Mrs. Lovett: Well, this is going to work out perfectly. That is, if the people at the insane asylum don't see through Flapjack in an instant, which they almost certainly will.

Sweeney: I really don't care at this point. (Returns his attention to window.) Oh, dear. That poor canary. (Pause.) Send me the boy, Mrs. Lovett.

Mrs. Lovett: Don't you think he's a little young for voyeurism?

Sweeney: Says his drinking buddy.

Mrs. Lovett: Touché.

(She exits. Sweeney sits at his desk and begins to write a letter. Moments later, Toby enters.)

Toby: Mrs. Lovett said you wanted me for something. (Pause.) Then she told me that, if she never saw me again, she wanted to let me know that I was the best boy in the world and one hell of a drinking buddy. I'm sure she meant it as a joke, though.

Sweeney: Look out of the big window, Toby.

(Toby obeys. His eyes widen.)

Toby: Waugh!

Sweeney: I know.

Toby: That Mr. Gates is a bottomless well of debauchery.

(While Toby gazes out of the window, letting out the occasional gasp, Sweeney finishes his letter.)

Sweeney: Tell me how this sounds. (Clears throat.) "Dear Judge Turpin, How are you? I am fine. I hope you are, too. That will make killing you all the more satisfying. By the way, sailor boy has your ward. Apparently, he is not of the opinion that all women who refuse to sleep with you are insane. Clearly, he is also insane. You are the most irresistible man I have ever seen. I would switch my sexual orientation in a heartbeat if I thought you would have me. No joke. Anyway, come to my shop tonight if you want Johanna. She has gotten over her fetish for sailors and being allowed to go outside once in a while. The idea of enduring your company until the sweet, sweet, oh-my-God-I-can-almost-taste-it day that you die fills her with highly sexual emotions. Love, the decidedly-less-awesome-than-you Sweeney Todd. P.S. If you hurry, I'll throw in sailor boy so your rodent-like best friend will finally stop whining." (Looks at Toby.) Well?

Toby: It needs a little work.

Sweeney: (hurt) What do you mean?

Toby: Well, the part about killing him doesn't really fit with the rest of the letter. You should probably focus on the sexual stuff instead.

Sweeney: (huffy) Fine. Anything else?

Toby: I'm having trouble with some of your word choices. You should replace "enduring" with "enjoying" and "sweet" with "sad". It's a common mistake, you know.

Sweeney: Humph.

Toby: Please don't be offended, Mr. T. You asked for my opinion. I was trying to be constructive!

(Sweeney doesn't reply. However, he does cross out a part of his letter before handing it to Toby.)

Sweeney: Do you know where the Old Bailey is?

Toby: Yes. (Looks at Sweeney suspiciously.) Why do you ask? Did Mrs. Lovett tell you about the trial?

Sweeney: I don't care about your sordid past, Toby. (Hands him letter.) I just want you to deliver this.

Toby: (wiping his brow) That's a relief. Can I stop at the liquor store on the way?

Sweeney: NO! YOU ARE NOT GOING TO SCREW UP MY REVENGE PLANS WITH YOUR DRUNKENNESS!

Toby: Gee whiz, Mr. T. You don't have to turn into Owen Meany and Harry Potter's bastard mpreg child just because I asked a simple question.

Sweeney: WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?

Toby: Fine, fine.

(He exits with the letter. Sweeney paces and darkens the sky with the power of his mind.)

_Author's Note: In the next chapter, Toby finds that life imitates art. _


	18. Uh Oh Spaghetti Os!

_Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. As you might imagine, it was really hard to make this scene the least bit funny. It's just so sad for both of them. Also, I could tell you a long story about visiting relatives and writing college application essays, but, let me tell you, it'd be dull. As always, thanks to everyone that reviewed. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own Sweeney Todd, any novels with vampires, Axe Body Spray (gross), or Spaghetti-Os. For some reason, my family stopped buying them after I started second grade. I remember liking them._

**Scene Nineteen: Uh-Oh Spaghetti-Os!**

(Mrs. Lovett sleeps on a chaise longue in her parlor with another installment of _The Ninja who Had a Bachelor's Degree in Psychology _perched on her lap. A drunken Toby enters the room.)

Mrs. Lovett: (muttering in sleep) No…no…I don't _want _to go to the Baking Academy, Mummy…Mummy, please…it smells like flour and I can't get the hat to stay on my head…I want to swim with the dolphins and learn their wisdom…

Toby: Mum?

(Mrs. Lovett wakes up and sees him.)

Mrs. Lovett: Good lord, Toby. Where have you been all night and why do you reek of booze? More so than usual, I mean.

Toby: I had to deliver a letter for Mr. Todd.

Mrs. Lovett: That explains nothing. If I drank every time I had to do something for Mr. Todd, I'd have died of cirrhosis of the liver a long time ago. Or maybe he would've stabbed me first, I don't know.

Toby: What?

Mrs. Lovett: I mean he would've performed an unsuccessful surgery on me. You know, in an effort to cure my liver disease. Because Mr. Todd is such a swell guy.

Toby: Right…about that…

Mrs. Lovett: You still haven't answered my question, Toby.

(Toby crosses the room and hugs her tightly.)

Toby: I don't care what people say about your hair or your taste in interior decorating, mum. I love you for your cleverness and kindness to pathetic waifs such as myself. Also, your breasts are like twin scoops of vanilla ice cream. Mm…

Mrs. Lovett: (turning blue in the face) Toby…please…no…can't…breathe!

Toby: Sorry, mum. (Loosens grip.) You know, if someone bad tried to hurt you, I'd kill him with my weak, scrawny, bare hands. Then I'd spit on his grave. Then I'd dance on it. On second thought, I'd dance on his grave before spitting on it, because I really don't want spit on my shoes. Do you know what I mean?

Mrs. Lovett: Oh my God, yes! I hate it when I get viscera on my boots. (Pause.) I mean, what are you talking about? What do you mean, someone bad? Did you see a chupacabra or something?

Toby: Nope.

Mrs. Lovett: A vampire?

Toby: Maybe. I don't know. He's pale enough to be a vampire. He also carries a sharp object at all times. Of course, you'd think that a vampire could just use his teeth to get blood. Also, aren't vampires allergic to silver? Or is that werewolves?

Mrs. Lovett: Are we talking _Dracula _or _Twilight_ here?

Toby: I don't know. Anyway, it doesn't matter. My point is that I'm going to kick his ass. That'll teach him to brood when he's supposed to be listening to you and give people "unsuccessful surgeries" when he should be giving himself a haircut. Seriously, who does he think he's kidding with that hair streak?

Mrs. Lovett: (to herself) Uh-oh Spaghetti-Os! (To Toby) We don't know anyone who has pale skin, a sharp silver object, a hair streak, and a tendency to kill his customers. That's crazy talk. Now, would you be inclined to forget your well-founded suspicions about Mr. Todd, I mean this figment of your insane imagination if I gave you a shiny penny?

Toby: I do like shiny pennies.

(Mrs. Lovett pulls Pirelli's purse out of her cleavage. Toby cranes his neck to look at it, because it comes from the most wonderful place in the world. His eyes become googly as he realizes the awful truth.)

Toby: That's Signor Pirelli's Plot Relevant Man Purse! I'd recognize that Axe-Body-Spray-and-urine scent anywhere!

Mrs. Lovett: That's ridiculous, Toby. Mr. Todd gave it to me for my birthday. Well, it wasn't really my birthday. Also, he didn't give it to me so much as he let me take it off Pirelli's corpse. Of course, he made it possible for me to have it by murdering Pirelli, so it's like he gave it to me. As you can see, he's really a swell guy. You should give him a chance, love.

Toby: Did you just say that Mr. Todd murdered Signor Pirelli?

Mrs. Lovett: Um…I was…uh…being ironic? Yeah, that's it. Ironic.

Toby: (ignoring her) This is great! All this time I thought he was just a bad surgeon with a horrible temper and no hobbies, but now I have a legitimate reason to report him to Beadle Bamford!

Mrs. Lovett: Have you met the Beadle? He's been neglecting his duties to hang out with Judge Turpin and ogle working-class men for the past twenty years. I don't think he'll be much help.

Toby: He will if I tell him that Mr. Todd is wearing a sexy new vest. (Rubs his hands together in a sinister manner.) MWA-HA-HA!

Mrs. Lovett: Was that….was that an evil laugh, Toby?

Toby: Yep. I heard Mr. Todd do it and decided to emulate him. Isn't he a bad influence? Don't you think he should be sent far away from my impressionable eyes and ears? Tomorrow I'm going to get highlights! (Pause.) By the way, can I have my penny now?

Mrs. Lovett: Of course, love. (Hands him penny.) Anyway, what's all this talk about Mr. Todd being a bad influence? He's a great role model! He's hard-working, he's determined, and, unfortunately for me, he's entirely capable of keeping it in his pants.

Toby: He's also a murderer and a total schmuck. (Examines penny.) This isn't very shiny. Not that I care if it's dull, but still. You promised me a _shiny _penny. I'm sure you didn't lie to me on purpose, though. You'd never do that to me, would you, mum?

Mrs. Lovett: Only if it was convenient, darling. Now, why don't you lean on my shoulder which, I might remind you, is perilously close to my chest?

Toby: Like in my picture! (Leans against her shoulder and sighs.) Yeah…I don't really care about anything except your beauteous orbs right now. Not even the fact that a murderous lunatic lives upstairs. I'm still going to report him, though. Do you think we'll be able to make it to his execution? Because I'm bringing popcorn.

Mrs. Lovett: That's nice, dear. (Bursts into tears.) You're such a sweet little woobie! I don't want to have you killed!

Toby: (confused) I'm glad to hear that, mum. I don't want to have you killed, either.

Mrs. Lovett: (tearful) At least I'll take comfort knowing you're in a better place.

Toby: You mean Las Vegas?

Mrs. Lovett: Sure, let's go with that.

Toby: I could use a vacation. I've been really stressed lately, what with the pressures of the restaurant business and my unrequited love for you. I just hope I don't see Pirelli there. I bet he has a new venereal disease by now.

Mrs. Lovett: (wiping her eyes) What are your plans for tonight, dear?

Toby: Well, I was going to hide under my bed and contemplate self-mutilation while listening to "On My Own" like the maladjusted little misfit that I am, but I'm open to suggestions.

Mrs. Lovett: Would you like to go to the bake house and learn how to make pies instead?

Toby: Would I ever!

Mrs. Lovett: I don't know. Would you ever?

Toby: Uh-huh!

(They leave the parlor and descend into the Cannibalism Bake House of Doom. There's blood on the floor, a gigantic meat grinder with limbs sticking out of it, and an angry-sounding oven full of fire.)

Toby: Awesome!

Mrs. Lovett: Yes, it is. Now, I'm going to leave you alone down here until I can persuade Mr. Todd to get off his shapely butt. Grind the meat three times, make sure the oven door is properly closed, and ignore any dead bodies that fall from the ceiling.

Toby: Gotcha.

Mrs. Lovett: Also, do you see this grate over here? (Gestures to grate.) It leads right to the sewers. That's why it smells like shit in here. It has nothing to do with the burning corpses at all.

Toby: Cool.

Mrs. Lovett: Anyway, you could easily lift the grate and crawl into the sewers if you were so inclined. You know, if you needed to escape the bake house for any reason. (Winks.) Not that you'd ever be in such a situation.

Toby: That's very interesting, mum. Can I eat a bunch of pies while I'm down here?

Mrs. Lovett: (bursting into fresh tears) How can I lead you to your violent death when you're so damn _cute_?

Toby: Mrs. Lovett? Are you having your woman times?

Mrs. Lovett: (tearful) Sure, let's go with that.

(Sniffling, she runs upstairs. Toby shrugs and commences to stuff his face.)

_Hope you enjoyed! In the next scene, Johanna is irritated by her fellow inmates._


	19. Seductive, Man Killing Moxie

_Author's Note: It's been a long time, hasn't it?_

_Disclaimer: I do not own _Sweeney Todd_, Tammy Wynette, _Hamlet_, _Les Misérables_, _GreatExpectations_, or the questionable phrase "caught in the lots". I do, however, own _His Plangent Member_ and Peggy. _

**Scene Twenty: Seductive, Man-Killing Moxie**

(Anthony follows Mr. Fogg, who won the title of World's Creepiest Man in 1844, down a corridor with stalactites hanging from the ceiling and stalagmites poking out of the floor. Also, there are bats. Anthony nods sympathetically as Mr. Fogg babbles about his lost dreams.)

Mr. Fogg: Anyway, to make a long story short, I never got into the Prussian Institute for the Forbidden Arts and Mad Science, and do you know why?

Anthony: Your face?

Mr. Fogg: (ignoring Anthony) Procrastination! Let that be a lesson to you, Mister…what's your name?

Anthony: Harry. Harry Wiggins.

Mr. Fogg: That's a suspiciously appropriate name for a wigmaker's apprentice.

Anthony: Actually, it used to be something else, but I changed it because I love wigs so much.

Mr. Fogg: Cool. I like wigs, too. Sometimes I wear them. Sometimes I dress like a woman, hang out in bars, and sing Tammy Wynette songs. Sometimes I wish that I had been born a beautiful palomino stallion instead of a complete failure.

Anthony: (breaking into cold sweat) Can I have my hair now?

Mr. Fogg: (wiping away tears) Of course, Mr. Wiggins. What color would you like?

Anthony: Yellow. No, wait. Amarillo. That sounds fancier because it's Spanish. A wigmaker's apprentice, which is what I am, always uses fancy words.

Mr. Fogg: Indeed they do. (Resumes walking down corridor and points to various doors.) Now, I keep the brunettes in here, the redheads in here, and the blondes in here.

Anthony: You must work with wigmakers a _lot_.

Mr. Fogg: No, not really. Apparently, I give them an "icky" feeling.

Anthony: So, you sort the inmates by hair color because…?

Mr. Fogg: I'm delightfully insane!

Anthony: Delightfully?

(Mr. Fogg ignores him and opens the door to the Blonde Room, revealing…dun, dun, dun…two blondes, an auburn-haired girl, and a white-haired old lady. The first blonde, our dear Johanna, moodily smokes a candy cigarette and reads a romance novel entitled _His Plangent Member_. The second, Ophelia, hums English folk ballads and throws flowers on Johanna's lap. The auburn-haired girl, Eponine, quietly scrawls "Mme. Marius" on a piece of paper. The white-haired old lady, Miss Havisham, wears a wedding dress and glares at everyone else. One might wonder how women from such different times, places, and socioeconomic backgrounds landed in the same asylum. This does not bother Mr. Fogg. He only cares about hair color. Maybe he's a Time Lord or something.)

Mr. Fogg: DAMN IT, PEGGY! I TOLD YOU TO SORT THEM BY HAIR COLOR! YOU CONNIVING BITCH! YOU ARE TRYING TO RUIN MY LIFE! AH HATES YOU!

Anthony: Who's Peggy?

Mr. Fogg: My wife. Actually, she's not _technically _my wife, since English law forbids a man to marry a highly trained, purebred Himalayan cat with the brain of a human.

Anthony: (shaking his head) Puritans.

(Anthony and Mr. Fogg watch as Ophelia throws a sunflower at Johanna's head. Abruptly, Johanna looks up from her book.)

Johanna: I swear, Ophelia, if you throw one more flower at me, I will make Eponine stab you in the eye with her pen.

(Eponine looks up from her paper, wide-eyed. Did we mention that she can speak and understand English now? All those afternoons spying on Marius Pontmercy while he translated books must've come in handy.)

Eponine: Non! I'm writing to Monsieur Marius. He's a very pretty boy, you know. (Sighs longingly.) Besides, this is my only pen.

Johanna: You're forgetting that you're my bitch, Eponine. Stab her!

Eponine: What the devil! I'm not afraid! This summer I'll be hungry; this winter I'll be cold. Are they some fools, these geese, to think they can scare a girl? Scared? I spit on it! Because you have hussies for mistresses who hide under the bed when you raise your voice, it won't do here! Me, I'm not afraid of anything!

Ophelia: Hey, nonny, nonny, hey, nonny, nonny, hey, nonny, nonny, ho!

Johanna: Did you hear that, Eponine? She called me a whore, but with some of the letters missing!

Eponine: When Shakespeare wrote his plays, "ho" meant something entirely different.

Johanna: Since when do you know about Shakespeare?

Eponine: Since I figured out how to break into Monsieur Marius's room and hide in the rafters. (Pause.) I wish you'd stop calling me your "bitch", Mademoiselle Johanna. It's so icky.

Johanna: Well, I wish that I had more character development in this movie, but that's not about to happen, now, is it? So make with the stabbing, bitch!

Eponine: You can try all you like, you won't go in, I'm not the daughter of a dog, I'm the daughter of a wolf. There are six of you, what's that to me? You're men. Well, I'm a woman. I'm not afraid of you, not one bit. I tell you that you won't go into this house, because I don't like the idea. If you come near, I'll bark, I told you I'm the _cab_, I don't care about you. Go on about your business, you annoy me. Go wherever you like, but don't come back here, I forbid it! You have knives, I have feet and hands. That makes no difference to me, so come ahead!

Ophelia: (singing) Lavender blue, dilly, dilly, lavender green. When I am king, dilly, dilly, you will be my queen!

Miss Havisham: Girls, girls. There's no need to fight.

Johanna: Yes, there is!

Miss Havisham: No, there isn't. I need to mold each of you into seductive, man-destroying machines!

Ophelia: No, thanks. My boyfriend Hamlet says that all women are seductive, man-destroying machines, so it would be redundant. (Singing) Tirra lirra, by the river, tra-la-la-la-la…

Eponine: I'm planning for Marius and me to die at the same time, but he doesn't know about it. Does that count?

Miss Havisham: NO! (Takes a deep breath.) It's not enough to have lady parts and sad crushes on melancholy young men, girls. You have to want to see them writhe on the floor in pain! Pain, I tell you!

Johanna: (rising from chair) HEY, LADY! Shut your stupid face! You're just some old broad who smells like moldy wedding cake and AH HATES YOU!

(Shock and horror ensue!)

Ophelia: Gadzooks!

Eponine: Mon dieu!

Miss Havisham: Why, I never!

Mr. Fogg: Oh, burn.

Anthony: Alas, Johanna! Life in the insane asylum has hardened you! You swear, you make violent threats, you rape sad little French street urchins, you disrespect your elders, you don't care about historical context, and you smoke candy cigarettes!

Johanna: (noticing Anthony for first time) Oh, crap. You landed yourself in the loony bin, too. (Groans.) I just _knew _this would happen. Well, I guess it's not so bad here. I have food, friends, candy cigarettes-

Anthony: (interrupting) I'm not crazy! I recently became a ninja and resolved all of my mental and emotional issues, except for most of them. Anyway, I'm here to rescue you!

Johanna: Oh, joy.

Eponine: (to Anthony) For the love of God, Monsieur, take her! She's the most horrible person in the world!

Ophelia: She _could_ be a little more pleasant.

Miss Havisham: Hey, I like Miss Johanna. She's got moxie. Seductive, man-killing moxie.

Anthony: (bursting into tears) My beloved Johanna is an insane asylum rapist with bad manners who may have been trained to destroy me! I don't know what to think anymore!

Johanna: Oh, cheer up, Anthony. You cry so much that I'm starting to think we're in one of those M-rated slash fics where you get caught in the lots. Listen, we'll go to Chuck E. Cheese after we get out of here. Doesn't that sound nice?

Anthony: "Caught in the lots"? Who _says_ that? Are you a hardboiled private investigator in a 1930s detective novel or something? Also, what's an M-rated slash fic?

Johanna: I hope you never find out, darling. Just focus on the Chuck E. Cheese part.

Anthony: Yay! Chuck E. Cheese!

(At that, Johanna rises from her chair, tucks _His Plangent Member _into her cleavage, and links arms with Anthony. Together, they head for the door. Unfortunately, Mr. Fogg, who insofar has watched the action with mild interest, decides to get off his butt and block the exit.)

Mr. Fogg: Not so fast! I don't allow wigmaker's apprentices to leave with my inmates, just their hair and spare internal organs!

Johanna: Anthony! Shoot him!

Anthony: Don't be silly, Johanna. I'm a ninja now. I don't need guns.

Johanna: Fine. I'll shoot him.

Anthony: That's completely unnecessary! Besides, you don't get to do that in the movie.

Johanna: But…why?

Anthony: I don't know. Tim Burton just doesn't like you, I guess.

Johanna: (shaking fist at heavens) BUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRTONNNNN! (Pause.) You did bring a gun, though, right?

Anthony: Yeah. For some reason, Mr. Todd doubts that I have serious ninja skills. Honestly, Johanna, he's kind of a schmuck. A schmuck with the face of a seriously depressed angel, but still. (Notices that Johanna's hand is in his jacket.) Hey! I did not say that you could do that! Not me not now!

Eponine: Yeah, that doesn't really work on Mademoiselle Johanna…

Anthony: Your fake father is such a bad influence. I'm going to have a word with him.

Johanna: (retrieving gun from jacket) Here we go!

Mr. Fogg: Waugh!

Anthony: You're seriously messing with the movie's continuity, Johanna!

Johanna: I don't care! That guy and his Himalayan cat wife only allow me one pack of candy cigarettes a week! I AM AN ADDICT, ANTHONY! I NEED MY FAKE SMOKES!

Anthony: SWEET FANCY MOSES, JOHANNA, I WILL USE MY NINJA SKILLS ON YOU IF I HAVE TO!

Mr. Fogg: PEGGY, I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T MEAN ANY OF IT! YOU'RE A NICE, PRETTY KITTY!

Peggy: (off-screen) MEOW!

Miss Havisham: WHY IS EVERYONE YELLING?

Ophelia: WHY CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG!

Eponine: WAIT! I HAVE AN IDEA!

(Everyone stops screaming and looks at Eponine.)

Anthony: What?

Eponine: We can all sit in a circle and sing "On My Own" like the maladjusted little misfits that we are!

Johanna: Oh, that'll never work.

(Shortly afterwards…)

Anthony, Johanna, Mr. Fogg, Peggy, Eponine, Miss Havisham, and Ophelia: (singing and sitting in a circle) In the rain, the pavement shines like silver! All the lights are misty in the river! In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight, and all I see is him and me forever and forever!

(Shortly after that…)

Anthony: Well, we'd better be going!

Johanna: We should do this again some time!

Mr. Fogg: Take care, you two.

Peggy: Meow!

Miss Havisham: Break his heart, Johanna!

Ophelia: Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night!

Eponine: I just cry out. They come, bang! You're six; but I'm everybody!

(Anthony and Johanna leave, closing the door behind them. Miss Havisham, Ophelia, Eponine, and Peggy the Himalayan cat advance upon Mr. Fogg.)

Mr. Fogg: Well, that was fun! (Notices what the ladies are doing.) Wait…what…what are you going to do to me?

Miss Havisham: TICKLE FIGHT!

(Tickle fight ensues.)

_Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed! In the next chapter, Sweeney uses his Sexuality™. Or maybe something different happens, I don't know. I need to check the DVD to see which scene comes next._

_Full Disclosure: I intend to write a Mary Sue fic of dubious quality, starring Peggy, the Secret, Highly Trained, Purebred Human-Brained Himalayan Cat Wife of Mr. Fogg with a Human Brain. It will also be a self-insert. That's right. I actually have a great deal in common with a Himalayan cat with a human brain. For example, I have a human brain. Also, two cats, but they're not Himalayans. I have an aunt who has a Himalayan cat, though. _

_Question: Who would win in a fight: Eponine or Johanna? Consider the various incarnations of each girl: Book! Eponine, Musical! Eponine, Penny Dreadful! Johanna, Musical! Johanna and Movie! Johanna. _


	20. Using My Sexuality!

_Author's Note: Hi, everyone! It looks like Johanna won. Eponine put up a good fight, though. Thanks for your lovely reviews, as well as your votes. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like my Himalayan Cat Mary Sue is going to make it. However, the fifteenth chapter of my other story, "Sailor Boy", features a horse named Peggy. She is described as "a good girl" by her owner, who feeds her muffins. Hey, I do what I can._

_Disclaimer: I own a rather depressing short story about an alcoholic Civil War veteran, but not _Sweeney Todd_. More's the pity._

**Scene Twenty-One: Using My Sexuality!**

(Having managed to get Sweeney off his shapely butt, Mrs. Lovett leads him down the outside stairs.)

Mrs. Lovett: So, I've got him locked in, but if he escapes, he'll go to the Beadle and tell him that you're wearing a sexy new vest.

Sweeney: (giggling) This old thing? I've had it for ages. I wear it when I don't care how I look!

Mrs. Lovett: You're completely missing the point, aren't you?

Sweeney: You're right. If the Beadle hears that I'm wearing a sexy new vest and sees me in these rags, he'll be so disappointed. Oh, I'll just die of embarrassment. Under no circumstances will Toby escape. The consequences would be fatal. FATAL, I TELL YOU!

Mrs. Lovett: I don't know, Mr. Todd. I kind of told him exactly how to escape the bake house.

Sweeney: The judge will be here soon.

Mrs. Lovett: That has nothing to do with what we're talking- (Sees Beadle lurking in shop doorway.) MY EYES! I NEED BRAIN BLEACH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHH! (Composes herself.) Sorry, Beadle. I wasn't sufficiently prepared to gaze upon your hideous visage.

(Meanwhile, Sweeney attempts to hide behind Mrs. Lovett in order to disguise his lack of a sexy vest. Despite this, Beadle ogles him while doing a series of truly disgusting things with his nose.)

Beadle: Think nothing of it. Many ladies find my animal magnetism so overwhelming that they scream in terror at the sight of me. Anyway, I'm here on official business. There have been some complaints about the stink from your chimney. Health regulations and the general public welfare naturally being my duties, along with being a substitute rapist when Judge Turpin is unavailable, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to take a look at your bake house.

Sweeney: (whispering to Mrs. Lovett) Were those euphemisms?

Mrs. Lovett: (also whispering) Oh, God, I hope not.

Beadle: I SAID I'M GOING TO TAKE A LOOK AT YOUR BAKE HOUSE!

Mrs. Lovett: Oh, no! That's where I do my cannibal cooking!

Beadle: Pardon?

Mrs. Lovett: Um…

Sweeney: I'll take care of this situation, Mrs. Lovett…using my sexuality!

Mrs. Lovett: You already used your sexuality to get out of paying your rent this month! Do you even have any left?

(Ignoring her, Sweeney runs a hand through his hair and confidently strides up to the Beadle.)

Sweeney: What's a nice Beadle like you doing in a dump like this?

Mrs. Lovett: Hey!

Beadle: I thought I just told you. I want to look at your bake house. (Pause.) Wait. Did you just call me "nice"?

Sweeney: Yep. If you were a booger, I'd pick you.

Mrs. Lovett: Gross.

Beadle: Go on…

Sweeney: Yo momma's so ugly, when she was born, the doctor slapped _her_ momma.

Beadle: Huh?

Mrs. Lovett: That's not a pickup line, Mr. T. That's a "Yo Momma" joke.

Sweeney: Uh-oh Spaghetti-Os! (To Beadle) Why don't you come upstairs with me? I'll _pamper _you. I'll show you my _razors_. I'll pretend to be interested in your _retractable cane_. We'll have _sex _that will make even the _most hardcore yaoi fangirls physically ill_, if you know what I mean.

Beadle: To the barbershop!

(Sweeney and Beadle make their way upstairs. Mrs. Lovett quietly vomits into a potted plant. The Beggar Woman sees all.)

Beggar Woman: I spy with my little eye something…homoerotic!

(Meanwhile, Toby continues to stuff his little face in the bake house.)

Toby: Must…deal…with…issues…by…overeating…hey, what's this?

(Toby pulls a toe out of his mouth.)

Toby: Uh-oh Spaghetti-Toes! (Looks about bake house.) Mrs. Lovett seems to have left piles of human body parts on the floor. I better rummage through them, just to make sure that they're really bits of hacked-up corpses. (Picks up hand.) Yep. This is definitely a severed hand.

(Beadle's corpse falls from the ceiling and HIS HEAD ASPLODE OH MY GOD!)

Toby: NOT COOL, MRS. LOVETT! HAVING YOUR WOMAN TIMES IS NO EXCUSE FOR SUCH CONDUCT!

(Meanwhile, Sweeney drops a hat on the dead Beadle. A highly satisfied smirk adorns his face.)

Sweeney: (to Beadle) I KILL YOU…USING MY SEXUALITY!

_Author's Note: In the next chapter…well, I don't know. I'll think of something later. _


	21. Think He Likes Fried Street Urchin?

_Author's Note: Thanks for your reviews! I've divided the final scene into three parts (the sewers, the shop, and the bake house), but I've posted them all at the same time._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd or anything else that belongs to somebody else. _

**Scene Twenty-Two: Do You Think He Likes Fried Street Urchin?**

(Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett wander through the surprisingly spacious sewers of London, searching for Toby. Neither of them looks particularly happy.)

Mrs. Lovett: I don't know why we're still bothering with this. We've been down here for three hours, and all we've seen is an old guy carrying an unconscious boy, a masked man playing with dolls, and a Chinese dude talking to his pet rats.

Sweeney: (pouty) Hey, that Chinese dude was nice! We should have him for dinner.

Mrs. Lovett: Oh, I don't think that's a good idea. We'll only be hungry again by bedtime.

Sweeney: Mrs. Lovett!

Mrs. Lovett: Sorry. You put it out there and I couldn't resist.

Sweeney: (rolling his eyes) I meant that we should invite him to eat with us. Do you think he likes fried street urchin?

Mrs. Lovett: Be quiet! He might hear you. (Calling to Toby) There's no reason to hide, love. It's not like Mr. Todd is some murderous, razor-wielding lunatic who has every intention of killing you! You certainly don't have to keep hiding, Toby! Definitely don't run as fast and far as your adorable little feet can carry you, for God's sake! Flee for your life…on Opposite Day!

Sweeney: (wielding razor) Yes! Tell us where you are so I can find and kill you!

Mrs. Lovett: (to Sweeney) Why did I even bring you here?

(He shrugs. They continue searching the sewers.)

_Author's Note: In the next scene, the Beggar Woman thinks that she is a real estate agent. _


	22. I'm a Prettyboy at Best!

_Disclaimer: I do not own _Sweeney Todd_, Chuck E. Cheese, the pimp Pepper Jack (he's from _It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia_), _Gone with the Wind_, _The Phantom of the Opera_, any Batman villains, Pop-Tarts, the line "I'm a real good sex person. I do it all the different ways" (that's from _30 Rock_), _Les Misérables_, or the song "Beautiful Girls". Unfortunately, Anthony's dream is from my own subconscious mind. Sigh._

**Scene Twenty-Three: I'm a Pretty-Boy at Best!**

(For the fourth time, Anthony barges into the barbershop without knocking. Granted, one does not usually knock on shop doors, but he really should have learned by now.)

Anthony: Mr. Todd! Johanna and I just went to Chuck E. Cheese and it was AWESOME!

(Johanna enters, disguised as the world's second-prettiest sailor and carrying a giant purple stuffed monkey. She admires the way her legs look in Anthony's trousers.)

Johanna: You know what I just realized?

Anthony: What?

Johanna: I should've gotten into cross-dressing a long time ago. Seriously, I look adorable!

Anthony: I know, right? You almost look like my mischievous twin brother Giovanni. No one will recognize you. You're totally safe. (Pause.) Of course, Gio owes money to his pimp, but Pepper Jack's out of town this week, so you're still totally safe.

Johanna: (scornful) Safe? So we'll run away and all our dreams will come true?

Anthony: (oblivious) Exactly! Well, except for that one where a chimpanzee tries to rape me as revenge for feeding his brother to my dog, but then turns into Rhett Butler. That one's just weird. (Pause.) Wait. What does being safe have to do with all our dreams coming true? Forgive me for saying this, Johanna, but I think you need to work on your vocabulary.

Johanna: I've never had dreams, only nightmares.

Anthony: Dreams are overrated, anyway. I used to have dreams, but then they were shattered. Shattered, I tell you! So, really, you're better off without them.

Johanna: (wielding ballpoint pen) Are you trying to out-sad me, Anthony?

Anthony: (nervous) Um…no?

Johanna: Because I will not hesitate to stab you in the eye with this pen if you are. Oh, and don't even think about using your ninja skills on me, since they're no match for my insane asylum fighting tactics. Besides, outraged teenage girls will portray you as an abusive husband in unintentionally hilarious stories if you lay so much as a hand on me.

Anthony: But it would be in self-defense!

Johanna: DO YOU WANT TO END UP LIKE RAOUL DE CHAGNY?

Anthony: No! I'm not a fop! I don't change my clothes once during this movie! I'm a pretty-boy at best! Don't do this to me, Johanna! I'm begging you!

Johanna: THEN SAY YOUR NEXT LINE, BITCH!

Anthony: (sulky) When we're free of this place, all the ghosts will go away.

Johanna: No, Anthony. They never go away. Nothing will ever get better, and you're stupid for thinking that it might. My pessimism makes me morally superior to you. At least, screenwriter John Logan seems to think so.

Anthony: (shaking fist at heavens) LOOOGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAANNNNNN! (Turns to Johanna.) Does that giant purple monkey mean nothing to you? What about my clumsy attempts to save your ass? Don't they count for something?

Johanna: Nope!

Anthony: ARGH! (Composes himself. Smiles. Looks disturbingly like Harley Quinn.) I love you, Johanna. I really, really do. You wait here while I get the carriage and a nice, big bottle of vodka. Okay?

Johanna: Sounds good.

(Anthony flees the shop, furtively popping a few "optimistic" pills as he goes. Johanna approaches Sweeney's washstand, picks up his razor, and stuffs it into her pocket.)

Johanna: (shrugging) Finders-keepers, losers-weepers. I wonder if he has any candy cigarettes.

Beggar Woman: (from outside shop) Are you guys done having sex yet? Because I don't want to see any hot barber-on-beadle action. I have enough disturbing hallucinations as it is. Now, if you had that pretty little sailor in there, Mr. Barber, I'd be making popcorn.

(In her confusion, the Beggar Woman ships Sweeney/Anthony. Understandably, Johanna is terrified and dives into the Trunk of Body-Concealing. The Beggar Woman enters, looks round the shop, and makes little disapproving noises.)

Beggar Woman: This place needs a lot of work. I mean a _lot _of work. First of all, the wallpaper has to go. It's too depressing. It'll turn off potential buyers. Plus, that decaying doll in the corner will keep them from picturing this as _their_ home. I have to hand it to you, though, Mr. Barber. There's very little clutter in here. That's good.

(In her confusion, the Beggar Woman also thinks that she's Sweeney's real estate agent. Remember, kids, don't do arsenic. She bustles about the shop until Sweeney enters, wielding a razor as usual.)

Sweeney: What're you doing here?

Beggar Woman: Do you really expect me to know the answer to that question?

Sweeney: Get out of here! I have important people to murder!

Beggar Woman: Wait! I just remembered why I came here. It had something to do with homoeroticism or curb appeal or the stink of evil from below. I'm not sure which.

Sweeney: That's not a very nice thing to say about Mrs. Lovett. Sure, her new perfume smells like dead skunk, but she can't help it. She lost her sense of smell in a tragic baking accident.

Beggar Woman: Hey, I know you! Didn't you used to be younger, stupider, less sexually experienced, and more colorfully dressed?

Sweeney: (wistful) Well, yes, but weren't we all once?

Beggar Woman: You look good! Have you lost weight?

Sweeney: (blushing) A little.

Beggar Woman: Did you give up Pop-Tarts like I said?

Sweeney: (nodding) They didn't have them in prison and Mrs. Lovett won't buy me a toaster. She's so mean!

Beggar Woman: She's only doing what's best for you. Those Pop-Tarts weren't doing you any favors, darling.

Sweeney: What do you mean by that insulting remark?

Judge: (from outside shop) There better be a hot teenage girl, a pretty sailor boy, and a sexy barber in there, or I'm going to be very unhappy!

Beggar Woman: (to Sweeney) I hate to tell you this, but you were getting fat.

Sweeney: (slashing her throat) DAMN IT, I WASN'T FAT! (Pulls a lever that sends her through the floor. Turns to the door.) Come in, O Irresistible Justice of the Peace!

(The Judge enters and looks round the shop.)

Judge: I see a sexy barber, but no hot teenage girl or pretty sailor boy. Of course, it hardly matters about sailor boy, since Beadle Bamford apparently forgot that I'd procured a victim especially for him tonight. God! You try to do something nice for a guy and…well, never mind about that. Where's Johanna?

Sweeney: Below, your honor. Thank heaven the sailor did not molest her.

(Inside the trunk, Johanna bursts into incontrollable giggles.)

Judge: Yeah, that wasn't really a major concern of mine. I'm more interested in knowing if she's sorry for what she did and horny for some hot guardian-on-ward action. Also, is she wearing one of Mrs. Lovett's cleavage-baring dresses? Because that would be awesome.

Sweeney: I can arrange that, Your Honorific Honorableness. First, though, let me shave you in a homoerotic manner so that I can distract you from the fact that I mean to kill you.

Judge: I don't know…

Sweeney: I'm a real good sex person. I do it all the different ways!

Judge: Oh, Mr. Todd, how can I resist you?

(The homoerotic shaving begins, as does the singing.)

Judge: Lovely ladies! Waiting in the dark! Ready for a quick one or a thick one in the park!

Sweeney: Beautiful girls! They only want to do you dirt! They'll make you suicidal, suicidal, when they say it's over!

Judge: (dreamy) Nobody gets me like you do, Mr. Todd. You understand that a man can enjoy having tons of gay sex but still be one hundred percent heterosexual. It's like we're soul mates.

Sweeney: Yeah, well…YOU RAPED MY WIFE!

Judge: Huh?

Sweeney: (leaning over Judge) Remember? I'm that guy you sent to Australia! You raped my wife at a masquerade ball! You've been perving on my daughter for the past fifteen years!

Judge: You'll have to be more specific. (Squints at Sweeney.) Didn't you used to be fatter?

Sweeney: I WAS NOT FAT!

Judge: BENJAMIN BARKER!

Sweeney: (wielding razor) BENJAMIN BARKER!

Judge: (holding up hands) Wait! Don't kill me yet!

Sweeney: (suspicious) Why shouldn't I?

Judge: I haven't given my villain speech yet!

Sweeney: Oh…well…make it quick.

Judge: (clearing throat) Ahem. When I say that you and your girlfriend was nothing personal, you know that I'm telling the truth. It's the schemers that put you where you are. You _were _a schemer. You _had _plans. And, uh, look where that got you…

Sweeney: Seriously? You're going to copy the Joker?

Judge: (sighing) I know. Pathetic, isn't it? He's just so _popular_ with the ladies.

Sweeney: (punctuating each word with a stab) YOU ARE NOT THAT KIND OF VILLAIN! YOU'RE JUST SOME OLD MAN WHO CAN'T KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS!

(The Judge is mostly dead. I am not even kidding about how mostly dead he is. Sweeney, who is very sexily covered in blood, drops his corpse into the bake house. Then he gazes lovingly at his razor.)

Sweeney: C'mon, baby. You and I are going to have ourselves a little celebration tonight.

Johanna: OH, GROSS! HOW WOULD THAT EVEN WORK?

Sweeney: (suspicious) Is that a body in the Trunk of Body-Concealing? Let me investigate.

Johanna: Oh, crap.

(Sweeney walks to trunk, pulls out Johanna, and deposits her in his Chair of Evil.)

Sweeney: Have you come for a shave, lad?

Johanna: Well, that wasn't my original intention but, while we're here...

(She begins to roll up her trouser cuff, exposing a somewhat hairy ankle. Sweeney stares at her blankly.)

Sweeney: You're a very weird little boy.

Johanna: I know, right? My wedding night's coming up and I want my ankles to look nice, so try not to cut me up like you did your last two customers. Man, you must be one terrible barber if all you can do is kill people.

Sweeney: I CHOOSE TO KILL PEOPLE!

Johanna: Yeah, yeah. Spare me your life story and make with the shaving.

Sweeney: (wielding razor) Don't speak to me in that tone, young man!

Johanna: Waugh!

(A scream comes from downstairs.)

Sweeney: Do you mind if I give you a rain check on the whole murdering you thing? I think that scream might be important to the plot.

(Johanna shrugs. Sweeney exits. Once he's gone, she proceeds to steal everything that isn't nailed to the floor and stuff it in her pockets.)

_Author's Note: In the next chapter, the Judge displays a can-do attitude during his last moments._


	23. Only Girls Burn Corpses

_Disclaimer: Not mine. _

**Scene Twenty-Four: Only Girls Burn Corpses**

(In the bake house, the mostly dead Judge paws at Mrs. Lovett.)

Mrs. Lovett: DIE! DIE! GOD IN HEAVEN, DIE!

Judge: C'mon, baby! Give Judge Turpin some sugar!

Mrs. Lovett: I'm not that kind of girl…well, unless Mr. Todd is involved. Or Jack the Ripper. Or Albert after enough gin. But not you. Definitely not you.

Judge: Do you want me to die horny, Mrs. Lovett? I thought I was going to get some action tonight. Mr. Todd, Johanna, that hot mess of a sailor, Beadle Bamford after enough whiskey, you, your cute little foster son, a veritable mob of nubile OCs…damn, there's so many people I'll never get to rape! MY LIFE IS WASTED!

(Mrs. Lovett delivers the killing blow with her viscera-covered boot, because she is awesome. She glances at the pile of bodies and notices the Beggar Woman.)

Mrs. Lovett: Oh, crap.

(Sweeney enters, concerned and bloody and wielding a razor. Fangirls everywhere squee.)

Sweeney: I heard you scream. Did something scary happen?

Mrs. Lovett: Well, a mostly dead Judge Turpin tried to get into my undergarments, but that's a normal occurrence in the life of a female Londoner. Or a male Londoner, for that matter.

Sweeney: (chuckling) That Judge Turpin. Always trying to rape people and often succeeding, even when his throat is spurting blood. That old rascal.

Mrs. Lovett: He had a can-do attitude. I'll give him that. Now get out of here. I have incriminating evidence of my duplicity to burn.

Sweeney: Don't you want any help?

Mrs. Lovett: Nope. Only girls burn corpses.

Sweeney: It's cool. I'm secure in my masculinity. How else do you think I could seduce Judge Turpin and Beadle Bamford without bursting into tears?

Mrs. Lovett: Burning corpses is woman's work. It's in the Bible.

Sweeney: IN YOUR FACE, GOD! I'M GOING TO DO WOMAN'S WORK!

Mrs. Lovett: (sighing) I forgot about your grudge against God.

(She walks to the oven door and opens it. The light of the oven reveals the face of the Beggar Woman.)

Sweeney: Hey! She looks like Lucy but dirty! (Pause.) She _is _Lucy but dirty!

Mrs. Lovett: (nervous) No, she's not. She's…um…Lucy's identical twin sister, Juicy. Yep. That's her name. Juicy.

Sweeney: Lucy had an identical twin sister and YOU DIDN'T TELL ME? I could've had sex with her and pretended that she wasLucy without closing my eyes! (Pause.) Wait. I met Lucy's entire family in 1828. There was no twin sister named Juicy. That's a ridiculous name!

Mrs. Lovett: Says Sweeney.

Sweeney: Touché, but you lied to me! Twice!

Mrs. Lovett: I didn't lie to you the first time. I just led you to believe something that was the opposite of the truth.

Sweeney: That's also bad.

Mrs. Lovett: Touché, but I did it out of LOVE!

Sweeney: I'm really glad that you don't hate me, then. You probably would've tricked me into eating a baby if you'd hated me.

Mrs. Lovett: I was only thinking of you! I wanted to protect you from finding out that Lucy turned into a crazy beggar with suspect hygiene. I wanted you to be happy!

Sweeney: Well, I wasn't exactly happy thinking that she was dead, was I? If I'd known she was alive, I could've brought her home and cleaned her up. Seriously, she wouldn't even look that bad if she weren't covered in mold.

Mrs. Lovett: What about her whole witch-evil-city-on-fire shtick? Wouldn't that have gotten in the way of a happy marriage?

Sweeney: Actually, it would've gone perfectly with my whole London-evil-full-of-shit shtick.

Mrs. Lovett: What about sex?

Sweeney: (shrugging) I stopped enjoying sex years ago. Now I only use it to kill people. Anyway, I could've slept with you on the side.

Mrs. Lovett: Damn. I really blew it, didn't I?

Sweeney: You sure did. Wanna dance?

Mrs. Lovett: My mother always told me not to dance with men who probably wanted to kill me, especially when there's no music playing, but you look really sexy when you're covered in blood, so okay.

(They begin to do the Twist.)

Mrs. Lovett: So, you forgive me, right?

Sweeney: Yep. Lean up!

Mrs. Lovett: (leaning up) Can we get married and live by the sea and have Toby brainwashed so he won't remember any of this cannibalism stuff?

Sweeney: Sure! Lean back!

Mrs. Lovett: (leaning back) Do you mind if I flirt with Johanna when she and Anthony visit? I always had a bit of a thing for ingénues. I mean, you'll be stuck with Anthony, but…

Sweeney: No objections here. Don't you think I hit that on the way back to England? Being at sea isn't exactly exciting. I had to do something. Now twist!

Mrs. Lovett: (twisting) By "something", do you mean "Anthony"?

Sweeney: Uh-huh. Now, could you move a little closer to the oven?

Mrs. Lovett: I don't see why not.

(She moves a little closer to the oven. Naturally, Sweeney pushes her inside and closes the door.)

Mrs. Lovett: YOU SEXY BASTARD!

(Then OH MY GOD SHE IS ON FIRE! While the audience mourns and/or reaches for the brain bleach, Sweeney shrugs and goes to Lucy. He kneels beside her and pulls her into his lap.)

Sweeney: So…yeah. Here we are. Hi, Lucy. Um…sorry for murdering you. (Pause.) I really should've asked Mrs. Lovett more questions. It would've saved everyone a lot of trouble. God, I'm stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

(While Sweeney smacks his forehead repeatedly, Toby emerges from the sewers like an avenging angel. He picks up a razor and goes to Sweeney, who promptly loosens his collar.)

Toby: Seriously? You're going to commit suicide by twelve-year-old boy? I expected more from you, Mr. Todd.

Sweeney: You're twelve?

Toby: Hey, I'm malnourished.

Sweeney: Yeah, yeah. Spare me your life story and kill me already.

Toby: Don't you want to make a speech?

Sweeney: Oh, fine. There was a barber and his wife. She was pretty and he was stupid. The end.

Toby: That's not a very good speech.

Sweeney: Well, if you're so smart, why don't you let me kill you?

Toby: Great speech, Mr. Todd! (Slashes his throat.) That's for throwing Mum in the oven! (Slashes again.) That's for making me run errands! (Slashes again.) That's for not coming to see me in the school play! (Folds razor and places it in his pocket.) Thanks for the gin, though. That was nice of you.

(Toby exits, whistling "On My Own" and leaving Sweeney to bleed on Lucy. A lot. The traumatized audience staggers away from the movie, television, or laptop screen and goes to watch something more cheerful, like _Revolutionary Road_.)

**A Brief Note about What Happened to Everyone who Was Alive at the End**

Toby checked into Fogg's Asylum, where he met Eponine and fell in love. After they left the asylum, they toured the country as a singing duo, got married, and had lots of grubby and maladjusted but sweet-natured children.

Johanna waited for Anthony in the barbershop for a few hours before realizing that any marriage between them would be disastrous. Disguised as "Johnny Barker", she signed aboard the _Bountiful _and had many grand adventures. For example, she seduced the captain, seduced the captain's wife, and stabbed Melvin, the ship's rapist, in the eye with a ballpoint pen.

Anthony returned to the barbershop, where he found Johanna's engagement-breaking note. After reading it, he promptly went to the nearest tavern and started to drink himself blind. Before he could complete his goal, however, he noticed an OC attacking a man's groin for saying that her belt did not match her shoes. Anthony set her straight by giving her a good talking-to and realized that he had a calling in life. For the rest of his life, he defended London from abusive and/or criminally spunky author-created characters. Eventually, he settled down with a moody Italian ex-prostitute whom he met through his mischievous twin brother Giovanni.

Mr. Fogg died of feline distemper, which he contracted from Peggy. Peggy followed him to his grave shortly afterwards. However, they died happy because England finally recognized marriages between humans and cats with human brains.

_Author's Note: Seriously, don't see _RevolutionaryRoad_ if you need cheering up. It's a bad, bad idea. _


	24. This is Very Sexually Confusing

_Author's Note: So, I was going through my documents recently when I came across the lost epilogue to _The Vengeful Vengeance of Schmenjamin Schmarker_. I'm not sure why I didn't post it months and months ago, but, luckily, I can now correct this oversight. I hope you enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: Not mine. The song about meat pies is a parody of "Lovely Ladies" from _Les Misérables_._

**Epilogue: This is Very Sexually Confusing, Isn't It? **

(In Fogg's Asylum, Toby and Eponine gaze deeply into one another's crazy but adorable eyes and sing a duet while Mr. Fogg dances with his new, legal cat-bride Peggy and Ophelia pokes a sleeping Miss Havisham with a potted geranium.)

Toby and Eponine: I LOVE HIM, BUT EVERY DAY I'M LEARNING ALL MY LIFE I'VE ONLY BEEN PRETENDING!

Ophelia: Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale, with Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale!

Mr. Fogg: Oh, Peggy! Who cares if I'm dying slowly of feline distemper? This night is so magical that I would not trade the world for it!

Peggy: Meow.

(Meanwhile, in the hold of the _Bountiful_, a still cross-dressed Johanna makes out with the captain. The captain's wife, Caroline, enters and looks at them aghast.)

Caroline: (to the captain) Darling! Why in God's name are you kissing little Johnny Barker? He's…he's a boy!

Captain: It's alright, dear. Johnny is really Johanna. Trust me. I've looked.

Caroline: Well, this puts all the time I've spent fondling him…_her_ in quite a different light. This is very sexually confusing, isn't it?

Captain: Yes, dear. It is.

Johanna: Heh.

(Melvin, the resident rapist of the _Bountiful_, enters. He has a ballpoint pen sticking out of his eye socket.)

Melvin: Hope? Hope, are you in here? (Notices everyone else.) Oh, hi. I was looking for Hope. Has anyone seen him?

Johanna: My fiancé doesn't work here anymore. He rented a room in London and became a vigilante crime fighter after I decided that we needed space. Remember?

Melvin: Oh, right. I keep forgetting. (Sighs.) I miss him. (Glares at Johanna.) _He _never stabbed me.

Captain: Yes, yes. We all miss Hope and his tendency not to stab us when we took liberties, as we so often did. So very, very often. (Pause.) Is anyone even steering this thing?

(Meanwhile, in a London tavern, Anthony gulps down his ale with ninja-like grace. A sixteen-year-old girl with wavy, waist-length chestnut brown hair and chocolate eyes sits by his side and sips gin.)

Anthony: You have to understand, Mary. It's not okay to kick a man in the crotch unless you're doing it in self-defense.

Mary: But he mistook me for a whore!

Anthony: Maybe there's a reason he mistook you for a whore. Where do you spend most of your time?

Mary: Whitechapel.

Anthony: What do you do there?

Mary: Loiter.

Anthony: Wouldn't you mistake a woman loitering in Whitechapel for a whore? I mean, it's an honest mistake. You could've corrected him instead of injuring his man-parts.

Mary: I suppose you're right. (Takes a sip of gin.) You know, you're not very violent for a vigilante crime fighter.

Anthony: I prefer to use reason when dealing with pathologically spunky OCs like you. I save my ninja skills for substitute rapists and abusive boyfriends. (Downs a few pills. Drains ale.) Listen, I have to go deal with Judge Turpin's cousin. Will you remember what I said?

Mary: Sure will.

(Meanwhile, in Hell, Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney are busy running a new pie shop given to them by Satan, who is as enamored with them as the rest of us. The Judge, the Beadle, and Pirelli stand outside the shop, licking their lips.)

Judge: I smell meat pies,

Smell them in the air.

Think I'll stab my fork into that meat pie over there.

Beadle: Lovely meat pies!

There's a nice big stack.

Eternity in hell can make you hungry for a snack!

Pirelli: Even barbers need a little snack!

Beadle: Dude. You rhymed "snack" with "snack".

(Pirelli hangs his head in shame. The Judge's watch alarm goes off.)

Judge: (sighing) Looks like it's time for me to be raped by Australian prison guards again.

Beadle: (looking at own watch) Yeah, I'd better be going, too. I have to go and…well, never mind what's going to be done to me, but it involves a retractable cane.

Pirelli: Wow. And I thought I had it bad having to dress up like Dolly Parton and sing to hostile crowds.

(Inside the shop, Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney prepare pies.)

Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney: Lovely meat pies!

Would you like a bite?

Meat pies every morning, meat pies every night!

Lovely meat pies,

Ready for the call,

Full of meat or vegetables or anything at all!

Bargain prices if they're very small!

(Albert Lovett comes into the shop. He begins following Mrs. Lovett and attempting to eat her leg.)

Albert: Must…become…world's…second…fattest…man…

Mrs. Lovett: Stop that!

Sweeney: Yeah, Albert. That's not cool.

(Lucy, who looks like her pretty young self, flounces into the shop, carrying an armful of dresses. She points to Mrs. Lovett.)

Lucy: WHORE! (Waltzes over to Sweeney and pecks him on the cheek.) Hi, Benji! I don't really love you, but I'll turn into a raging, jealous bitch if you so much as look at another girl. Also, I don't care for our infant daughter. Oh, and I'm sleeping with Judge Turpin and molesting puppies behind your back.

(She waltzes out of the shop. Sweeney shrugs.)

Sweeney: (to Mrs. Lovett) You'll have to excuse her. As punishment for trying to kill herself, she's being forced to behave as if she's in a particularly terrible bad fanfic.

Mrs. Lovett: Happens to the best of us.

Albert: Yeah, I remember when I first got here. It was "Make me a sandwich, woman" this and "Don't make me go upside your head" that. Very tiresome, you know.

Lucy: (from outside shop) I DON'T CARE HOW MUCH YOU STRUGGLE, PUPPY! I WILL HAVE YOU!

Mrs. Lovett: I suppose it could be worse. I had to play the jealous bitch in a You/OC fic last week.

Sweeney: You think that's bad? Have you seen some of the slash fics I've been forced to do lately? Listen, I know I spend a lot of time with my razors, but I wouldn't do _that_ with them.

Mrs. Lovett: Well, it wouldn't be Hell if you liked it, right?

Sweeney: I suppose not.

(Meanwhile, Mrs. Georgiana "Pepper Jack" Mooney sits in her pie shop and works on the first draft of _Not Quite a Virgin_, the long-awaited sequel to _His Plangent Member_. Giovanni, Anthony's identical twin brother who is also a prostitute, enters the room and licks her ear.)

Mrs. Georgiana "Pepper Jack" Mooney: I'd thank you to keep your filthy mouth to yourself, Gio. You know that I don't like to have my ear licked until I'm in the editing stages.

Giovanni: I'm-a very-a sorry-a, Signora-a Pepper-a Jack-a. I-a just-a wanted-

Mrs. Georgiana "Pepper Jack" Mooney: (interrupting) And cut that fake accent crap, too. It's offensive and we both know that you're from Shropshire, so why bother?

Giovanni: Sorry, ma'am. I just wanted to tell you that we're out of cat jerky.

Mrs. Georgiana "Pepper Jack" Mooney: Again?

Giovanni: Yep.

Mrs. Georgiana "Pepper Jack" Mooney: Well, I guess that you'll just have to go out and earn some then, won't you?

(Giovanni shuffles out of the shop, grumbling to himself. Alas, he cannot see his way out, for male prostitution seems to be his only option.)

THE END?

YES.


End file.
